


On Thin Ice

by bluevalentine69



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: ... That Gets Resolved Eventually, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Athlete Arthur (Merlin), Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Dancer Merlin (Merlin), European Figure Skating Championships, Fluff and Smut, Four Continents Figure Skating Championships, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skating, Infidelity, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Merlin Olympics, Mutual Pining, Rimming, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Winter Olympics, World Figure Skating Championships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:26:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22284073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluevalentine69/pseuds/bluevalentine69
Summary: Arthur is an Olympic silver medallist figure skater, looking for gold in the next Winter Olympics with his ice dance partner, Mordred.When Mordred is banned from the sport for failing a drugs test, Arthur’s coach, Gaius, has to find him a new partner ASAP.The chosen candidate is … not what Arthur was expecting.Basically hate, lust, UST, sex, angst, betrayal, more angst, and true love on ice, set against the backdrop of the most prestigious sporting events competition in the world.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 170
Kudos: 526





	1. Baby steps

**Author's Note:**

> On thin ice, idiom.  
> If you’re ‘skating on thin ice’, you’re in a precarious or risky situation.

“What’s his name?”

“Merlin.” Arthur scrunches his nose at his coach.

“Never heard of him.” Gaius shuffles hesitantly.

“No, well you wouldn’t have. He’s only been skating a year.” Arthur splutters and sets down his protein shake, blended with berries and spirulina, raising both eyebrows incredulously.

“You’ve replaced my professional Olympic-silver-medallist ice dance partner with a _novice_?” he fumes, utterly gobsmacked.

“Calm down, Arthur,” Gaius says, sitting down heavily. “He’ll be here to meet you soon.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that we have six months to go until the Moscow World Championships and your long-term _Olympic-silver-medallist_ ice dance partner has now been banned from the sport for drug use. At this stage, all Britain’s more _established_ ice dancers are already in pairs. Or too young. Or simply not talented enough to match you. You don’t have much choice here, Arthur. If you want to compete - which you need to, to stay competitive for the Vancouver Olympics next year - then you have to accept the best that’s available to you. And that’s Merlin.”

“Fuck bloody Mordred,” Arthur curses, returning to his shake and stretching out his hamstrings. He and Mordred had been paired at the ages of 7 and 5, going through training, the Junior Grand Prix Final, World Junior Championships, Grand Prix Final, European Championships, World Championships, and then the Sochi Olympics together, all by the time Arthur was 19, and always as medallists. They were the world’s youngest ever ice dance team to win an Olympic title and favourite to take Gold at both the next World’s and Olympics. All fan-fucking-tastic until Mordred had got himself a supermodel girlfriend called Sophia and fallen into the fast-living world of crack-addicts. He’s like a little brother to Arthur, and right now, his baby bro sucks. Arthur sighs heavily and sits on the stool next to Gaius, playing with his empty glass moodily.

“What’s his deal then, this ‘ _Mer_ lin’ character?” Gaius opens a manila envelope in front of him and pushes up his spectacles as he pulls out a tidy paper-clipped profile. Arthur shakes his head.

“Just give me the highlights. I’m sure with a whole twelve months under his belt it won’t take long.”

“As you wish,” Gaius says, losing patience, pushing the paper away from himself. “He’s a dancer. No professional training until he was twelve, just school dance clubs, and then he won a scholarship to the Royal Ballet School in London. He was quickly picked up by the National Youth Dance Company and made a reputation for himself in Contemporary Dance as a fusion ballet-street dancer, performing at seventeen in a critically-acclaimed modern dance show in New York called _Grime_. Whilst he was over there he took up ice-skating at the weekends for fun and seemed to have a knack for it. An old friend of mine, Killy, owns the rink he used - trained him personally. He recommended him when I explained your situation. He’s nineteen, he’s never competed in anything, and this is all going to be very new for him, so you _will be nice_.” Gaius raises his Eyebrow of Doom. Arthur crosses his arms.

“I reserve judgement. If he’s shit, I’m not competing. I’m not going to make a fool of myself for some _ballet dancing_ newbie who’s inept enough to slice my fingers off. Can he even jump?” Gaius puts a hand to his head as though one of his migraines is coming on, when there’s a sudden burst of natural light as the rink door slides open.

“Ah!” Gaius’s head pops back up, smile on his face. “Merlin!” Arthur looks at his new partner. ‘Elf’ is his first thought. His ears stick out from either side of his head, unruly dark curls sticking up in all directions. He’s tall and lean - light for lifting, Arthur notes - and strong; there’s finely honed muscle there. Arthur thinks he looks kind of indie, with his baggy CK sweater, rolled up sweatpants, white socks and plimsolls, training bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hey Gaius!” he says, face splitting into a beam. “Sorry I’m a bit late, I got lost finding my way around the complex.”

“Not at all dear boy, not at all. We’ve been greatly anticipating your arrival, haven’t we Arthur?” Arthur plasters a smile on his face and walks over to shake hands.

“Yes, enormously. Pleased to meet you,” he says politely.

“And you!” Merlin grins a little shyly. “Your _pasodoble_ on ice at last year’s World’s was insane. And _sooo_ hot! You and Mordred looked like you wanted to rip each others clothes off with your _teeth_. Honestly, the size of my boner was _epic_. I thought you guys must definitely be shagging, but that was before, you know -” Merlin waggles his fingers at his nose, “all the snorting white powder off his girlfriend’s tits made it to the front pages. Shit for you, that.” Arthur blinks, dazed by the onslaught of words.

“Shit just about covers it,” he agrees, looking towards the rink. “I’m keen to see what you can do, too.”

“I’m sure you are,” Merlin says with a suggestive smirk that disarms Arthur. He looks too cute and innocent to be suggestive. And totally unruffled by Arthur’s cool demeanour. He plonks himself down on a bench and unzips his bag. “I’ll be ready to go in five.” Arthur resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Don’t you need to warm up? We can’t afford injuries.” Health and fitness is something his sponsors take _very_ seriously. Since he was nine his training has incorporated strength, cardiovascular endurance, balance, agility and flexibility exercises in between regulated periods of warm-up and cool down stretches - dancing, barre, aerobics, circuits, running, weightlifting, calisthenics, pilates, tai chi, swimming, box jumping - skating’s the fun part.

“I did Bikram this morning and practically jogged here, I’m good.” He’s kicked off his trainers and is shimmying out of his sweatpants, tight black lycra leggings beneath. Arthur nearly chokes at the sight of his slender, muscled thighs and fricking _enormous_ package. Epic boner indeed. He turns around quickly, jumping as Merlin thrusts something into his hands. “Put that on will you? I like music when I skate. Helps me flow.”

“What is it?” Arthur asks dubiously.

“Erm, kind of like a synth mix of classic and dubstep? It’s cool, you’ll like it. I have a mate who’s a music producer, she mixes stuff specially for me.”

“Something else new and wonderful to look forward to,” Arthur mutters, walking towards the sound system and looking at the scrawled note attached to the CD; Hans Zimmer’s ‘Interstellar’ theme and a dubstep edition of Rag’n’Bone Man’s ‘Human’. Jesus. He raises his eyes to the heavens and prays silently.

“We’ll start with Merlin doing a single free skate, give you a chance to see how he moves Arthur, and then we’ll practice a few routine lifts, a few simple choreographed sequences, see how you two work together,” Gaius says, lifting himself into what Arthur calls ‘the throne’; a bar height directors’ chair allowing easy oversight of the rink. Merlin finishes lacing up his skates, and stands up, moving to the boards. His long-sleeve black t-shirt has silhouette animals fighting on it, like Indonesian shadow puppets, with the slogan ‘PULL THE LEVER KRONK’ beneath. Arthur doesn’t get the reference. He watches Merlin do a few little shakes of his head, stretching out his fingers and rolling his shoulders and then he looks back at Arthur and smirks at him.

“Showtime,” he mouths, pushing himself out onto the ice in a strong, graceful glide until he reaches the centre of the course. Expectation coils tightly in Arthur’s stomach as Merlin stops and gives a small nod. He presses play and then leans against the wall, eyes narrowed in appraisal as gentle piano music starts. Merlin sweeps out onto the ice, limbs perfectly controlled, effortless, relaxed, floating across the surface with swanlike elegance. He does a few figures of eight and serpentine step sequences to warm up and then begins to demonstrate some different footwork sequences, mohawk variations, hops, waltz three turns, Killian steps, a couple of side toe hops, connected with smooth spread eagles, twizzles, lunges, everything fluid and precise. Arthur watches, mesmerised, as the freezing air seems to circle like a mist around him, cloaking him with a dreamy sort of magic. As the music intensifies he begins to demonstrate more complex skills; speed skating studded with swift sequences of brackets, cross strokes, chassés, counters, choctaws, running threes, powering from end to end of the rink as he builds up momentum.

The music changes again - a synthetic, rhythmic, pulsating drumbeat that charges the atmosphere, making the hairs on Arthur’s neck stand on end and blood throb in his ears. Merlin pauses dramatically, then shifts his hips and suddenly ricochet’s off the edge of the boards like he’s been electrified, executing an astonishing series of spins and spirals, arabesquing like a ballet dancer, death dropping into a centred spin, sinking low into a sensual, tantalising, ice-kissing cantilever, rising like a snake in a sinuous coil of muscle into an I-spin, flying into a camel spin. As the music reaches its crescendo Merlin becomes a wild, untameable force of nature, showing off impossible jumping combinations and sequences, beautiful butterflies, heart-stopping Russian splits, turning into a near impossible quadruple salchow, a flip, a lutz, a triple axel, pivoting, travelling, taking flight again in an air-dance of toe-loops and loops, and then coming back to earth as the feather-light piano music returns, swooping low and hydroblading in a sweeping arc, circling slowly to a stop.

Arthur releases a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, skin tingling, something like euphoria giving him a giddy, dizzying buzz. Mordred was an excellent ice dance partner; technically precise, fantastic at execution, beautiful to watch. Plus they’d worked together for so long he was practically an extension of Arthur’s own limbs; Arthur knew his body as well as his own. But Merlin. It’s like watching electricity, the way his body moves and curves and arches, mouth slightly open, eyes piercingly blue, hair blown back in the rush of wind he whips around himself; it’s innate, instinctual, _primal_ , exciting, breathtaking. Merlin is clearly highly proficient, his skills are advanced, his mastery of the rink unquestionable. In an ISU competition he’d score highly across the board; technicality, difficulty, agility, flexibility, presentation, creativity, ice-coverage; he’s astonishing.

Merlin is lying panting on the ice, arms flung behind his head, and Gaius turns to look at Arthur questioningly.

“Want him _now_?” he asks pointedly. _You wouldn’t believe in how many ways_ , Arthur thinks, aching in places that won’t be soothed with sports massages or heat-packs or ice-baths. He nods curtly.

“Yes. I do.”

*

They spend the afternoon together in the rink, getting used to each other’s movement, rhythm, bodies, speed, strength, balance; testing out their partnership dynamic. Under Gaius’s watchful eye, they do some simple mirror skating, synchronising their movements perfectly, try out a few common pair-skating manoeuvres - side-by-side spins, a dance spin - make a few small lifts, assessing Arthur’s strength and Merlin’s weight; their chemistry is so natural, Arthur feels like Merlin’s been his partner for years.

In their first carry lift - Arthur simply skating with Merlin in his arms - Arthur is shaken by the intense heat he feels holding Merlin’s body close to his, hands sliding along his narrow waist, alternately gripping his legs, the smooth curve of his arse, his wiry arms. After an hour of building confidence and trust, they try some more complex tricks; a death spiral (which goes well), a haircutter (which is dangerously wobbly), a lasso lift (where Merlin’s balance is off and Arthur nearly drops him). Their final challenge of the day is to try a throw jump.

“You sure you don’t want to do some out-of-rink training first?” Arthur asks, hesitating to take their starting positions. “We could test this in the gym, with crash mats, before live-trialling it?” Merlin shrugs with a grin, face red from the cold, radiating exuberance.

“Worst that can happen is that you drop me and then slice my fingers off, right?” he quips.

“Well, you could still skate with no fingers,” Arthur points out with a small smile. “ _Worst_ that could happen is you break your leg and I end up back at square one with no skating partner.”

“ _Or_ I could land on your head, and kill you?” Arthur grins properly.

“So we’re good to go then?” Merlin waggles his eyebrows in challenge as Arthur grips his hand, skin smooth and tingling beneath his fingers, and pulls him into a series of turns and spins, gradually increasing pace, sliding his hands down to Merlin’s hips once their feet are aligned correctly and deftly spinning Merlin into a lift, thrusting him forwards and releasing him into an air-spin, watching as Merlin manages a half-spin, loses his body positioning, lands badly, and skids across the ice on his bottom. Arthur skates over to him, hands on his hips.

“I reckon we should practice in the gym first,” he says deadpan, holding out a hand and pulling Merlin to his feet. Merlin winces as he stands.

“Yeah, why didn’t we think of that?” he grouses, allowing Arthur to guide him back to un-frozen ground. The most important thing about Merlin, Arthur decides - the most important quality for any professional ice-skater, in fact - is that he’s completely and utterly fearless.

*

Back in his hotel room later - their private training rink is at an elite sports complex just outside Davos in Switzerland, payed for by their team sponsor, Escetir Athletics plc - Arthur has a quick shower and then lies on his bed with his laptop propped on his belly, eating a banana. _Merlin Emrys_ he types into Google. The top hit is an old TimeOut link to _Grime_ , an immersive modern dance exhibition commissioned by the Shed, a renowned cultural centre for performing arts in New York. The advertising image is a stark monochrome photograph of Merlin contorted in an airborne pose, striking in a black full-body leotard with mesh panels offering tantalising slivers of the lithe body beneath its taut skin. His neck and head is arched back as though in the painful throes of passion, a metal-studded collar circling his throat. Arthur nearly chokes on his banana, cock throbbing uncomfortably in his sleep shorts, and he puts the fruit on the plate by his bed, eyes wide as he clicks on a YouTube video with a clip from the show.

The stage looks like a huge concrete box, glowing dimly and covered with graffiti, a single chair in its centre the only prop. A pink neon light on one of the walls suddenly flickers to life, spelling out _Sanctify_ in a looping scrawl. An enormous man walks into view, body oiled and muscled, wearing a wolf head’s mask. He’s dragging a thick chain behind him, scraping the ground, and as he moves, the body of a man crawling behind him becomes apparent, chain attached to his collar. _Merlin_.

Arthur holds his breath as a hot, heady, tropical, throbbing bass with an R&B/hip-hop overlay begins to play, and the man pulls Merlin into centre stage and commands him to _entertain your audience_ , pushing him to sit in the chair and unleashing his collar, moving to sit with the front row of the audience to watch him. Released from his bonds, Merlin begins to uncurl in front of the hungry crowd, breathing deeply, eyes wild, inner animal released as he unzips his buckled jumpsuit, revealing a naked-looking body beneath, wrapped in a sheer leopard-print bodysuit. He writhes on the chair, stretching out his muscles, rolling his head and neck, muscles rippling as he tears his clothes off, running a hand down his body and then suddenly bending forwards, dropping a hand to the floor, sliding it up his leg and jerking upwards from the chair as though he’s being pulled by puppet-strings, orgasming.

Arthur groans and wraps a hand around his hard and leaking cock, stroking himself as Merlin seems to twist his body around and around in slow motion, moving around the chair before slamming a hand down on its seat as if to regain control of himself, head dropping as he begins jerking helplessly again with his other hand raised to the heavens, falling to his knees in a prayer position, a submissive gesture of help. He falls forwards, sliding across the floor on his belly, writhing sinuously with the music, and then using two elbows he lifts his body weight from the floor and swings himself back on to the chair so that he’s straddling it backwards, grinding on it in a way that simulates sex, mouth parted in ecstasy, glute muscles straining as he grips the back of the chair with his thighs and rolls himself backwards, contorting his body until his back is arched in a bridge, hands on the floor, bare feet curled around the chair legs to hold him in place. When he begins to shudder with suggested release, Arthur bites his lips and comes hard, slamming the laptop lid closed and pushing the offending machine away from him.

“Holy motherfucking Jesus,” he gasps into his pillow, more aroused than he’s ever been before in his life. Apparently BDSM, slave-themed stuff does it for him, who knew? “How is this my life?” he asks the room, wiping his hand on his belly and flinging an arm over his eyes. What an absolute clusterfuck. Merlin is too talented to get rid of, so Arthur has to keep him, but he is also, apparently, sex fucking personified, and Arthur is madly, deeply in lust with him, which is going to make training _excruciating_. He picks up his mobile with his clean hand and messages Mordred.

_remind me to kill u when i get home_

He sees three dots appear on the screen and waits whilst Mordred replies.

_Aw bud. That bad? Big G said the dude was ace._

Arthur sighs.

_i want to fuck him more than i want to win the olympics_

Three dots.

_hahahahaha haaaaaaaaaaaa ROFL LMAO this is epic_

Three dots.

_I feel like you should thank me for experimenting with the dark side of celebrity and gifting you with this monumental opportunity_

Three dots.

_You’re a winner and he’s the goal, okay ?… go score_

Arthur rolls his eyes.

_ppl r not ‘goals’ cokehead_

Three dots.

_Getting head right now actually ;-)_

Arthur stares at his screen balefully. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

*

The next morning, running his usual laps of the block, Arthur resolves:

1) to put all inappropriate thoughts of Merlin out of his head

2) to never watch his dancing ever, _ever_ again, and;

3) to make sure that everything they choreograph together is strictly Walt Disney PG friendly, even if it means ice-dancing as fucking pumpkins to a soundtrack of _bippety boppety boo_

He showers, blends himself a morning superfood shake - banana, vanilla whey protein, matcha green tea powder, spirulina, cashew nut milk, flaxseeds, and cinnamon - and then heads over to the training complex, making his way to Zone B where all the gyms are located. He stops when he gets to 314, their allocated room for the day, and sees Merlin sitting cross-legged on the floor, earplugs in, flicking the pages of a book with one hand and holding a burger with the other. There’s a McDonald’s bag next to him, and he has mayonnaise on his chin.

“Oh!” Merlin exclaims when he spots Arthur, pulling out his earplugs and grinning. “Sorry, didn’t see you there. I came over early, didn’t want to get lost again.” He smiles and takes another mouthful of burger, pushing away his book. “You’re staying at the InterContinental too, right?” he asks around his food. “I think Gaius said we’re all on the same floor; we should start grabbing breakfast together, travel over at the same time?” Arthur drops his bag to the floor and nods.

“Yep, sounds good.” Merlin looks pleased, reaching a hand into the greasy paper bag.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks bemusedly. Merlin looks up. “What the hell are you eating?” Merlin looks down at his food.

“Um. A cheeseburger.” He waves the remaining quarter at Arthur, his other hand producing fries. “And fries,” he adds, stuffing them into his mouth.

“Yes. _Obviously_. Let me rephrase; _why_ are you eating a burger?” Arthur is scandalised. Merlin scrunches up his nose. “Because I was hungry?” Arthur rolls his eyes.

“You are training for the _Olympics_ Merlin. You have to treat your body like a temple.” Merlin considers him, chewing thoughtfully.

“Burgers are the closest thing I’ve experienced to divinity, so I reckon it’s a fitting offering to my inner God.” Arthur grimaces.

“It’s not on the approved list.” Merlin laughs at him, eyes crinkling.

“ _Oooh_ ,” he smirks, putting a hand to his mouth. “It’s not on the _approved_ list. Naughty me.” He cheerfully puts the rest of the burger in his mouth and consumes it with a cheeky grin, pushing away his fries. “Tell me Arthur,” he says nonchalantly once he’s swallowed, sucking cheese from his thumb and tilting his head curiously, “what _can_ I eat for breakfast?” He smiles coyly and _how_ does everything that comes out of his luscious mouth sound like a bloody innuendo? Arthur’s traitorous cock starts filling again and he tries thinking about dead rabbits, cursing his life, and Mordred again for good measure, deciding that this season is going to be the death of him.

“I’ll ask Gaius to forward you the memo. And you have mayo on your chin.” He absolutely doesn’t whimper when Merlin holds his gaze and extends his tongue to lick it off.

Yep. He’s dead as a dodo.


	2. Finding their feet

With Europeans looming in three months, before Worlds, and then the Olympics, they start their training together alongside immediate choreography sessions, deciding on their approach for the three events.

“Well I mean obviously it’s the build up of a relationship, isn’t it?” Arthur looks at Merlin. He shrugs. “We’re gay partners telling a love story, like all the het skating pairs, right? So I reckon we do it over the course of the year’s events, rather than all in one go.” He takes a handful of Doritos, ignoring Arthur’s eye roll. “Let’s flirt at the Europeans,” he pauses to munch thoughtfully, “be full-blown honeymoon period at the Worlds, and then climax at the Olympics with two versions of a mature relationship. Happy clappy for the short program and maybe something more angsty for the long? I’ve drawn up a list of potential soundtracks, I can choreograph the extended dance story - and then pass it over to you to translate into ice chapters?”

“Wow, a love story on ice, how original,” Arthur says flatly, pointedly taking a few frozen berries from the bowl provided by management. Merlin smiles around his tortilla chips.

“It’s all in the execution, baby daddy. Me floating around in a pink tutu making cow eyes at you while we twirl in dopey love heart shapes is a total snore. But you dragging me by my hair across the ice, caveman style, to have your wicked way with me? That’s new. Ice dances always stay on the right side of frozen, don’t they? Cool and collected. Let’s shake it up, bring some fire to the ice.” Gaius considers them both, nodding pensively.

“It could work, Arthur. Going bold.” Arthur’s cock has taken an unhealthy interest at Merlin’s _baby daddy_ comment. He frowns, irritated with himself. _PG_ he reminds himself. _Walt Disney_.

“I don’t think we should overthink this,” Arthur says, sighing. “Why don’t we go _bold_ and avoid a story altogether, until Vancouver?” Both Merlin’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline.

“You want to skate without a _story_?” Arthur nods, sitting back and crossing his arms.

“We’re a new team. We need to put ourselves on the map technically as Gold contenders. Telling a story always distracts from the _technique_. Let’s just find some music with a mix tempo and showcase our range of synchronised skating skills in Bratislava. We need to make an impact fast, if we’re going to get on the judges’ radar.” Merlin licks the cheesy flavouring from the triangular corn chip he has pinched between forefinger and thumb.

“Getting the world excited to watch us is what’ll get us noticed,” he counters reasonably. “Stories are the basis of entertainment.” Arthur nods impassively.

“Right. And technique is the basis of _competition_. Therein lies the crux of our professional differences.” Merlin shakes his head in disagreement.

“You need both to be exceptional, Arthur. But I’m happy to defer to you. You’re the expert, clearly.”

“And _I_ am the boss,” Gaius interjects, standing up and removing both the crisps and the berries from the table. “I agree with Arthur that we need to keep the first dance more simple, if only so we can build up to a final wow factor in Canada; we don’t want to lay our ace card - and that’s your considerable choreographic creativity, Merlin - on the table immediately. But we do need a theme.” Merlin bites his lip and nods slowly, brow furrowing.

“How about something to do with battle lines?”

“What have you been reading, _War and Peace_?” Arthur mutters. Merlin clicks his fingers as if to say _bingo!_

“Exactly that, yes, good shout. West Side Story type stuff. Romeo and Juliet. Peace divided by hatred, love torn apart by rival gangs.” He leans forward enthusiastically. “It’s about disruption. We want the audience on the edge of their seats with uncertainty. I’ve got the perfect track - Tokio Myer’s ‘Bloodstream’. It’s a synth classic/pop Debussy and Ed Sheeran mix. It’s not about the _us_ , or any one narrative or specific story. It’s about using the music and our dancing to create a _feeling_.” He grins at Arthur and Arthur’s lips can’t help but twitch upwards in the face of all that blinding brilliance.

“Fine,” he agrees, looking at Gaius. “That could work, couldn’t it?” Gaius winks at them both, and points to the studio. Time to get practicing.

*

Somewhere in between working out, training, choreographing, practicing, skating, healing and sleeping, Arthur gets used to Merlin’s infectious positivity and appetite for junk food, and his hot lust is gradually tempered by their growing friendship and deepening professional respect. When the time comes to leave for Slovakia, Merlin’s a lot less annoying to travel with than Arthur would have anticipated, sticking on his headphones and sleeping for most of their transit. He’s also easier to share a room with than Arthur (and his penis) would have guessed, keeping his stuff haphazardly stacked in one corner (messily but in an attempt to keep the room in order), and climbing into bed in baggy sweats and a hoodie with a dog-eared paperback, burrowing under his duvet and quietly snorting or wiping away tears as the subject matter demands. Arthur’s face softens as he watches him the night before the Bratislava Europeans. His face is so expressive, Arthur can almost decipher the plot from his responses.

Their skate the following day is flawless. Mordred and Sophia are watching from the front row with Gaius and Merlin’s mum, Hunith, and Arthur smiles as Merlin gives her a double thumbs up and Mordred shakes his head at him, laughing. For their opening ‘Peace’ component, they start what looks to be a conventional figure skating program to Debussy’s ‘Clair de Lune’; elegant, graceful, ballet-like, carefully marrying deft synchronised footwork with controlled spins and sweeping spirals. When the beat changes and Sheeran’s ‘Bloodstream’ kicks in for ‘War’, their pace changes, and Merlin smirks at Arthur as he breaks out of their pair skate and jumps through the air in a breathtaking triple axel, landing to be swept up again by Arthur, lifted and thrown straight back into the air, spinning with a flourish, landing perfectly, skating backwards away from Arthur with a small hand gesture that seems to say _bring it on_. They counterpoint each other perfectly; strength and speed, grace and flair, playing the adoring lovers, the combative enemies, blazing with and at each other from end-to-end of the rink. Arthur is only vaguely aware of a whooping crowd, attention fully focused on Merlin’s eyes, Merlin’s body, _feeling_ their dance with everyone else as he strokes hands down his chest to his hips, trails fingers along his arms, grips him roughly in their antagonistic death spins. They end with a complicated lift, two bodies merging as one, with Merlin flying in the air above Arthur, dropping down to wrap his legs around Arthur’s neck, leaning backwards and trailing his hands over the ice in a farewell kiss as Arthur sinks to the floor and spins them to breathtaking stillness. Arthur can feel Merlin’s heart through their thin lycra, thumping against his own chest, breath rabbit fast as the stadium erupts around them. Merlin laughs and looks up at him delightedly and Arthur lets out a victory cheer as they move to their feet, lifting Merlin in an enormous hug, fighting the sudden and very inappropriate urge to kiss him in sweeping, Hollywood, foot-popping style. In that split-second of indecision, he feels lips against his throat, softly kissing his neck in chaste celebration. It’s not nearly enough.

It doesn’t help that after scoring 238.43 and taking Gold, a full 20 points ahead of their nearest competitors - and then enjoying a celebratory drink with their friends and family - Mordred messages once he’s in bed, Merlin snoring quietly in the single beside him.

_Congrats again big bro. Definitely retiring after that. AND … btw … he 100% wants to shag you too_.

*

“ _New UK figure skating same-sex pair, Arthur Pendragon and Merlin Emrys, waltzed into the record books last night with the highest score ever awarded in same-sex figure skating history_ ,” Merlin reads out from a British entertainment newspaper at the airport lounge, waiting to fly back to Switzerland to begin training for the Worlds. “ _It’s rare that a professional partnership can boast the chemistry that clearly oozes between these two young sports stars, and leaves the audience wondering whether they’re somehow turbo-charging the zipping energy between them on ice with more intimate activities off it_.” Merlin cackles, head thudding back on the wall behind him, and he rubs it half-heartedly as he kicks Arthur’s foot. “Here, you’ll enjoy this next bit - _Ice skating heavyweight Arthur, who looks like the golden-haired Prince Charming of every young schoolgirl’s dearest fantasy_ \- ” Merlin pauses to giggle again, “- _is the perfect pairing to newcomer Merlin’s ethereal Snow White …_ I mean really,” he pouts, “how come _I’m_ the girl here? _Either way_ ,” he continues, “ _it seems clear from their spellbinding debut performance that the fairytale of Gold is now firmly on the cards again at next year’s Olympics, and Britain might have a new golden celebrity couple on the scene._ ” Merlin looks up at him, folding the paper to one side. “I think they enjoyed our love _story_ ,” he smirks, looking far too self-satisfied for Arthur’s liking. Apparently they delivered Disney after all. He rolls his eyes.

“They’re interested in the story they think is happening _off_ the ice _Mer_ lin, or are you blind to subtext as well as the recommended list of training foods?” Merlin waggles a reproachful finger at him, leaning down to rummage through his backpack. He proudly withdraws a banana and a bag of apple crisps.

“Go on,” he teases Arthur, “say it. You’re impressed, this is a beautiful moment for us, yadda yadda.” Arthur holds his gaze as he drags Merlin’s backpack across to him and dips his own hand inside.

“Well, well,” he says drily, extracting the first thing he finds. “A family-sized bar of Cadbury’s Caramel Dairy Milk.” He dips his hand back in and withdraws it again. “And a box of Mini Rolls. And -”

“Alright,” Merlin says hurriedly, snatching his bag back as Arthur pulls out a pack of assorted condoms. 

“What are these for?” he asks stupidly, staring at the branding. _Amor Big Mix. 6 x Plain, 6 x Wild Textured (ribbed, studded and contoured), 6 Naked Feel, 6 Fun Flavoured (strawberry, banana, spearmint, chocolate, orange, tutti fruitti_ ) _._ He looks at Merlin. “How … comprehensive. A condom for every eventuality, one might say.” Merlin has turned a vibrant shade of fuchsia.

“I think that’s the general idea, yes,” he grins sheepishly, accepting the box from Arthur and dropping it back into his bag.

“Don’t you have a favourite?”

“Sorry?” Merlin asks, distracted and hot-cheeked.

“A favourite type of condom.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, looking surprised. “Well, yeah. Obviously. Naked Feel.” Arthur’s brain combusts and he worries for a moment he might visibly choke. _He likes Naked Feel … does that mean he bottoms and likes for it to feel bare? Or that he tops, and likes for it to feel bare? Maybe he’s into both?_ He tries not to swallow his tongue as he clears his throat.

“So why don’t you just get those then?”

“Oh.” Merlin says again, scratching his neck. “In case my partner, um, you know. Has a different preference.”

“Right,” Arthur nods, mind running blank. “Thoughtful.”

“There isn’t an actual partner,” Merlin throws in, suddenly looking at Arthur a lot more intensely. “Just to avoid any misunderstandings here. But you never know when you might get lucky, do you?”

“Most people go for the condom-in-wallet approach,” Arthur offers blithely, hardly aware of what he’s saying, nerves on overdrive. “Not the extensive back-catalogue of lovehoney.com in their carry-on.” _Is he trying to get laid on the flight? By who? A flight attendant? Or …_

“I’ll do that, thanks,” Merlin smiles, crossing his legs beneath him and studying Arthur with an amused expression. “You can take a few if you like. Now that you’re officially a dashing _princess_ and all. What’s your preference?” He’s toying with the hem of his sweater with an inscrutable look on his face. Arthur’s blood pressure begins to rise as their gazes lock, and he mentally slaps himself, aware they’re veering onto dangerous ground.

“I don’t fuck around in competition season,” he shrugs, passing the chocolate treats back to Merlin too. “As with junk food, I seem to be better than you at _abstinence_.”

“You want to be careful Arthur,” Merlin says quietly, eyes lingering on his mouth. “A starving man can only think of food.”

“And a junkie can only think about what he’s tasted and craves,” Arthur points out darkly, skin prickling under Merlin’s attention. 

“Everything in moderation,” he murmurs.

“Not if you have an addictive personality,” Arthur disagrees firmly, looking Merlin in the eye. “Once you’re obsessed, you’re fucked.” Merlin doesn’t have a response for that.


	3. Dancing on air

Three months later, they win the Moscow World Championships too.

Their routine theme this time is _Circus_ , with Arthur playing ringmaster and Merlin playing wild animal. It’s another brilliant, classical, electronic violin pop song fusion; Flo Rida’s ‘Good Feeling’, Imagine Dragons’ ‘Demons’, and OneRepublic’s ‘Counting Stars’. Arthur is dressed in black trousers and a red military-style blazer with gold shoulder tassels ( _epaulettes_ ) and buttons; Merlin is flamboyant in a feathery firebird-style costume, a volcanic, mythical sprite, teasing his would-be-trainer as he flies freely around the rink.

Their ice dance is completely clean, as per Arthur’s well thought out ‘Sanity Plan’, but it barely makes a difference, the way Merlin writhes and sparkles and grins his beaming sunshine smiles, tantalisingly beautiful and fizzing with energy, body spinning and swirling with controlled power and natural grace. Arthur’s got it bad. He realised his crush was bordering on _insane_ a few weeks after Europeans, when he noticed himself categorising the scents emanating from Merlin’s damp hairline after a hard training session; coconut shampoo and the citrusy scent of body wash lacing the muskiness of his sweat. He’d got half-hard in moments, thanking the God of Sportswear for loose sweatpants.

He’s started to _look_ in their changing rooms and when they share a bedroom on their pre-competition press tours, covertly watching Merlin’s naked body as he showers, impressed by the lithe strength; the lean, finely-corded muscle. He notices small things; the tattoo of a bird on his left shoulder, the perfectly formed buttocks with tantalisingly defined glutes, the pale, concave belly, the dusting of dark hair trailing down to his crotch. Arthur’s spending longer and longer in the bathroom at night in a bid to control his lust. He’s even thought desperately about going out and pulling a stranger in a bar - totally against all his morals and training season principles - just to fuck Merlin out of his system. He can’t afford to let his craving fuck up their training, not with Olympics up next, and their road ahead clear.

They’re waiting to go up to the podium to receive their medals when Arthur notices Merlin wincing, biting his lower lip. He’d twisted his ankle badly in a practice session earlier, although fortunately he’d landed the same jump perfectly in front of the judges.

“Ice baths as soon as you’re off, the pair of you,” Gaius says sternly, and Arthur puts his arm around Merlin’s waist to support his weight as best he can as they skate into the middle of the rink, smiling at the catcalling and whooping and cheering applause from the stands.

“I need a fucking vodka,” Merlin mutters out of the corner of his mouth, as they climb the central dais. Arthur glances at him. Merlin may like his junk food, but neither of them drink when they’re in competition. He must really be in pain.

“Let’s go out to celebrate,” Arthur offers, in a rare moment of spontaneity. They’ve won two out of two circuit competitions so far and they’ve got six months to train for the Winter Olympics after Christmas. They can afford a night off. Merlin raises an eyebrow.

“Who are you and what have you done with Arthur Pendragon?” They stop talking as the judges begin to present awards, and only Arthur, so familiar now with Merlin’s body, sees the slight tension as he leans forward to have the medal placed over his head.

As soon as they’re off the ice, and out of the press junkets, they’re bundled back to their training centre and forced into ice baths. Arthur scrolls through his phone, googling the local nightlife.

“How’d you feel about a steakhouse?” he asks, flicking through reviews. “I found one that gets five stars on TripAdvisor.”

“ _Meat_ ,” Merlin says reverently with his eyes closed. “And a whole bucket of fries, _slathered_ in salt and mayonnaise. And deep fried onion rings. And maybe a lobster with garlic butter.” Arthur wrinkles his nose.

“I’m not cleaning up your vomit, _mate_ ,” he says, switching to a new tab to search for nightclubs. “Do you want trashy Euro disco? Hardcore techno? House?” Merlin blinks at him slowly, a smirk playing about his lips.

“You know I can move to anything,” he replies with a careless shrug.

After the physio has seen Merlin, and given him a compression wrap to support his ankle whilst it heals, they head back to the hotel to shower and change. Arthur pretends to read as Merlin exits their bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips, watching as he dries off and lies on his double bed to pull up the tightest skinny jeans Arthur’s ever seen.

“You’re not wearing any pants,” Arthur chokes, flushing as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Merlin laughs, indicating the skin-tight fabric clinging to his body.

“Where would they go, exactly?” Arthur’s brain short-circuits and he makes an odd noise as Merlin smiles and pulls on a band t-shirt and Converse, artfully styling his hair with gel and rubbing a bit of glitter around his eyes.

They meet up with a few other athletes from the GB team and head to a popular steakhouse called Steak it Easy. Arthur has a beer, steak and salad, and watches in astonishment as Merlin downs three double vodkas, a large strawberry milkshake, and cheerfully orders a Philly cheese steak burger with pastrami and coleslaw and a side of mashed potatoes with truffle oil. Followed by cheesecake with sorbet and a side of tart and ice-cream.

“Where the hell does he put it?” the skier to Arthur’s left asks. Arthur shakes his head, mesmerised as Merlin sucks cream off his fork and animatedly discusses South Park with a snowboarder.

They trek to ICON afterwards, the local club, and Merlin’s pale skin glows blue under the lights, shining as he shimmies his way to the bar and orders shots for everyone.

The music is rhythmic and thumping, and soon Merlin is pulled into a group of girls on the dance floor, a circle gathering around him as he grinds and drops and coils sinuously to the music. Arthur sips a gin and tonic from the sidelines, cock hard as he watches Merlin dance; carefree, uninhibited, happy. Aching with need, he heads back to the bar and orders another G&T to numb his senses, chatting with some of the GB team about the forthcoming Winter Olympic season. He’s feeling buzzed when Merlin bumps into his back, laughing, and plucks his drink out of his hands, downing it.

“Dance with me,” he shouts, and Arthur allows himself to be pulled into the throng of people, spinning Merlin out and trying to match his dance moves, making him laugh breathlessly. The moment seems to slow down as Merlin giggles, dark eyelashes sweeping his cheeks, eyes crinkled, palm splayed on Arthur’s chest, and before he thinks, Arthur leans down and kisses him, licking the laugh out of his mouth, groaning as he tastes Merlin for the first time. Merlin pulls back laughing, moving his hand up to Arthur’s neck.

“It’s fucking taken you long enough!” Merlin shouts, pressing his smiling lips against Arthur’s. Their noses bump together as they hungrily kiss each other, their mutual want finally acknowledged and released, consuming both of them. Arthur is _burning_ , hands sliding possessively down Merlin’s body, over his arse.

Suddenly, Merlin is pulled away from Arthur and pushed backwards, someone aiming a punch at Arthur’s face.

“Woah!” he curses, ducking and reaching forwards for Merlin, who’s getting trampled on the floor. Two security guards make they way through the crowd and pull Arthur and Merlin up roughly, escorting them to the exit.

“What the hell?” Merlin says, twisting out of the guard's grip angrily. “We were dancing and two blokes attacked us! Why aren’t _they_ being thrown out?” The smaller of the two guards, a thug with a hard face, shrugs.

“You were behaving indecently,” he says with disgust. “In this country, two men don’t kiss in public. You should respect the culture you’re visiting.” Merlin opens his mouth furiously but Arthur puts a hand on his arm and steers him out of the club quickly.

“You’re not really going to let bigoted fucking prejudice like that _stand_?” he asks Arthur in disbelief, simmering with fury on the pavement in front of the club.

“We’re public figures Merlin,” Arthur says, sobering up quickly. “Do you want to make a scene and get our private lives and club antics on the front page of every newspaper from here to Tokyo?” Merlin glares at him mutinously. “We were stupid,” Arthur shakes his head, “it’s bloody _Moscow._ Pretty much the most homophobic place we could be in Europe. They banned Pride for a sodding _century,_ for fuck’s sake.” Arthur runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “We’re foreign nationals so they can’t charge us with anything, but they sure as hell aren’t going to stop us from being harassed.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have been a stupid mistake,” Merlin says bitterly, marching off in the direction of their hotel. Arthur walks after him, gripping his arm to make him stop, and then removing it before they draw attention to themselves again.

“Doing it in public, _here_ , was a mistake,” Arthur says quietly. Merlin’s face softens and they walk back to their hotel in silence.

Once they’re in their room, Merlin heads straight for the mini bar and gets out more vodka, tipping three bottles into a glass.

“Did they hurt you?” Arthur asks. Merlin shakes his head, taking a slug. He toes off his shoes and plonks himself down on his bed, reaching over to the bedside table to find the remote. “Are you really going to ignore me?” Arthur’s still standing by the front door. Merlin looks over at him.

“If you don’t like it, make me pay attention to you,” he says in challenge, turning his attention back to the television. Arthur feels resentful that he’s being blamed for their night being ruined, angry with Merlin’s attitude, sexually frustrated beyond belief, and still drunk enough to make bad life choices, so he goes over to the TV and switches it off at the wall, also turning off the overhead light, so that just the glow of the table lamp lights the room.

Merlin watches him with glittering eyes, taking another mouthful of vodka, one arm propping up his head. Arthur peels off his clothes where he stands, letting Merlin look, and then stalks over to Merlin’s bed naked. He removes the glass from his hands and unbuttons Merlin’s jeans, keeping eye contact as he slowly peels them off his lean frame. Merlin pushes his foot against Arthur’s face as his legs are released, groaning as Arthur turns his head to kiss his tender arch, hands softly stroking the bruised ankle. Merlin pulls off his own t-shirt and Arthur lets his eyes roam Merlin’s naked body hungrily, crawling to the foot of the bed to kiss his calves, the inside of his knees, the delicate skin on the inside of his thighs, the dripping head of his rigid cock, his hipbones, navel, nipples, collarbone, working his way worshipfully towards Merlin’s mouth and claiming it again.

“What do you want?” he asks, trailing his hand down Merlin’s stomach to graze his cock, fingers itching to travel lower. Merlin grinds himself against Arthur, kissing him hungrily.

“You as deep inside my arse as possible,” Merlin demands, biting Arthur’s jaw as he reaches into his bedside draw for lube and condoms. “There’s a selection,” he waves ironically, smiling as Arthur raises a disapproving eyebrow at him.

“Naked Feel, if I recall correctly?” Arthur says suavely, kissing Merlin’s neck as he extracts a few foil squares. He squeezes lube onto his fingers and works his hand between Merlin’s thighs, rubbing his hole insistently until Merlin closes his eyes and sighs wantonly, arching as Arthur pushes two fingers inside. Merlin jerks as his prostate is found, groaning and spreading his legs, trying to fuck himself on Arthur’s hand.

“Tease,” Arthur huffs, gently biting the pulse point at the base of Merlin’s throat, nuzzling behind his ear.

“How am I a tease?” he protests breathlessly, arching himself against Arthur. “I told you the first time I met you that I fancied you. You could have had me any time you wanted.”

“God, Merlin,” he complains, slipping on a condom and lining himself up. He presses the head of his cock to Merlin’s hole and leans down to kiss him sweetly, checking his face to make sure he’s okay. Merlin rolls his eyes.

“What, you think I want to wait any _longer_?” he snarks, gasping as Arthur thrusts straight in to the hilt. “Good answer,” he manages, before falling silent as Arthur begins to fuck him hard, lifting his arse to get a better angle, humming in approval as Merlin wraps his long, skinny legs around Arthur’s back. Merlin fucks like he skates, like he dances. Abandoned, unrestrained, passionate. He arches and closes his eyes as Arthur drops his head and pounds into him, biting Merlin’s ear, his neck, his shoulder.

“Touch me,” Merlin gasps, trying to move his hands down his body. Arthur grabs both his wrists and pins them above his head.

“Wait,” he orders. He takes a moment to savour six months of sexual tension being relieved on every thrust into the body that’s haunted his dreams, taunting Arthur in his fantasies for months. He takes in Merlin’s sweaty, strained, bowed body, the agonised bliss on his face, his unchecked sounds of pleasure, the glorious tightness of his arse, stretching around Arthur, his pliant warmth. He suddenly slows down, some of the frantic desperation and earlier anger wearing off, realising the intimacy of what they’re doing. He turns Merlin’s face to his and leans down to kiss him softly, changing his pace to something far more intimate. Merlin opens his eyes and they watch each other, trading languid kisses, stroking skin.

“You have _no_ idea how much I’ve wanted this,” Arthur says, kissing Merlin’s forehead. Merlin threads his fingers into Arthur’s hair with a soft smile.

“Me too,” he murmurs, drawing Arthur’s mouth to his for a searing kiss. Arthur hits his prostate and he arches again with his eyes closed, face screwed up with tension. “Arthur,” he pleads again, more urgently, and Arthur slides a hand between them and pumps Merlin roughly until he’s crying out and releasing himself between their bellies. The sight of him orgasming, of witnessing his moment of total surrender, tips Arthur over the edge too, and he lies on top of Merlin, panting heavily. He is suddenly exhausted, the events of the day catching up with him. Early training, warm-ups, more training, competing, physio, dancing, being manhandled, intense fucking. He’s dead. He rolls to the side with a groan, cursing his life.

“Are you thinking about our 11am flight?” Merlin asks, and Arthur laughs at how well Merlin knows him. Merlin curls against him, snuggling into Arthur’s chest. “We should talk about this, in the morning,” he yawns. Arthur looks down at him. Merlin bites his nipple. “I know what you’re like. You’ll wake up sober tomorrow and be all weird and regretful and professional, and it’s not happening, Arthur. We’re going to wake up, and fuck again, and talk, okay?” Arthur smiles fondly and wraps an arm around Merlin.

“Whatever you say, Billy Elliot,” he smirks. “Ow!” he cries, as Merlin pinches his scrotum.

*

Arthur wakes up five hours later, dawn light filtering through the curtains. His head hurts and his mouth feels like something died in it. Groaning, he eases his way out from Merlin’s loose, sleepy embrace, and heads to the bathroom to take paracetamol and a glass of water. He brushes his teeth for good measure, and wets a flannel, rubbing down his stomach and between his legs. He rinses it and wets it again, padding back into the bedroom. He peels back the duvet, carefully cleaning Merlin’s belly, covered in dried spunk. Merlin’s eyes flicker open as the sensations of cool air and hot flannel wake him, and he watches Arthur softly as he drops the flannel beside the used condom.

“Morning,” Arthur smiles. Merlin yawns and stretches, turning to his side to look at Arthur assessingly. “My head is wrecked. I’ve got spare paracetamol if you need it?” Merlin shakes his head.

“I’m fine,” he says gruffly. “Ankle’s sore, but otherwise just tired.”

“Hardcore party person,” Arthur grouses, looking down as Merlin places a tentative hand on his wrist.

“Are you coming back to bed?” he asks cautiously, and Arthur looks down at the naked body tangled in the sheets and _wants_. One night hasn’t done anything to take the edge off.

He’s so conflicted. Sense tells him that beginning a relationship with his dance partner is a recipe for disaster. He also knows that the sexual tension is getting impossible for them to work around.

“Shall we switch around the agenda, and talk _before_ fucking?” Merlin suggests helpfully, fluffing up his pillow and getting comfortable. Arthur climbs into bed next to him and pulls up the sheets, propping himself on an elbow, one hand on Merlin’s chest.

“I want you,” Arthur says slowly, watching Merlin’s face. “I think you want me too. We both fancy each other; that’s not uncommon for people who work together like we do.” Merlin nods his agreement. “If we act on that, and keep surrendering to our desire for each other, where does that leave us? Are we friends with benefits? Is that exclusive? Are we in a relationship? Sex complicates things Merlin, you know that. It takes one argument, one misunderstanding, one fuck up, and we bomb out of the Olympics. We’ve worked too hard to let that happen. If this,” he gestures between them, “is something real, can’t it wait another six months until the Olympics are over?” Merlin sighs and buries his face in his pillow.

“Maybe it can wait,” he nods, turning to look at Arthur seriously. “But I don’t want it to.” He leans over Arthur to take a gulp of water and then pushes Arthur on to his back, rolling on top of him. “Life’s not always tidy,” he says, sliding his leg between Arthur’s. “I want you, and my feelings for you go further than your dick.”

“That’s very romantic,” Arthur quips.

“Point is,” Merlin says, ignoring him, “we could die in a plane crash on the way back to Davos. I don’t want to waste time, it’s pointless. Why can’t we be everything we are to each other already and have this too? If we _don’t_ have sex, is that going to stop us from fighting if we piss each other off? I’ll still be devastated if you go off and fuck someone else instead of me. Not acting on our feelings won’t make them go away. If we’re going to fall in love, we’ll fall in love, whether or not we’re sharing a bed.” He takes Arthur’s face between his hands. “ _So_ , isn’t it better just to embrace this, and go with the flow, and work on making our partnership strong in all the ways it can be? Do you really think after last night we can go back to being colleagues? It’s already complicated, Arthur. We’re both professional enough to leave our personal lives at home when we step into the rink.” Arthur slides a hand up his warm back.

“ _Devastated_?” he teases lightly. “So you’re the jealous type, are you?”

“If you give me reason to be,” Merlin shrugs, settling down on the pillow beside Arthur. Arthur kisses him.

“I won’t,” he says seriously, and Merlin grins and pulls him closer, kissing him with dizzying passion, sighing into Arthur’s mouth.

“You can still wank to old dance videos of me, if it gets you off,” he offers cheekily. Arthur rolls back in shock.

“How did you - what - who told you -?” he splutters, colouring as Merlin takes his dick in hand.

“The walls between our rooms are pretty thin,” Merlin smirks, rubbing his cock to hardness. “It’s okay. I find your obsessive, stalkerish tendencies hot.”

“I am _not_ stalkerish,” Arthur protests.

“I wank to videos of you skating with Mordred all the time,” Merlin continues, unperturbed. “I use headphones.”

“You -” Arthur splutters, lost for words again.

“Hardly a blushing virgin, Arthur,” Merlin points out patiently. Unbidden thoughts of Merlin riding other men flash across Arthur’s brain, and he shakes his head hurriedly, appalled.

“Dreadful harpy is what you are,” Arthur retorts, sliding down Merlin’s body to take his cock into his mouth. He gets comfortable between Merlin’s thighs, moving down to lick and suck his arsehole for a while, before returning to enjoy the weight and texture and taste of Merlin on his tongue. He slides two fingers into Merlin’s still sticky, slightly moistened entrance, skilfully massaging his prostate at the same time as blowing him. Merlin’s hands are tangled in his hair and he’s fucking up into Arthur’s mouth and back onto his fingers, groaning as he feels his belly and balls tighten.

“Going to come,” he warns Arthur, and then comes keening when Arthur only sucks him harder. Arthur grins up at him, nosing Merlin’s dark pubes. Merlin looks down at him blearily.

“Is my semen on the approved list?” he asks, groaning as Arthur bites his thigh in retaliation. “This is why starvation is _bad_ for you Arthur,” Merlin whimpers, rolling away. “It’s turned you into a cannibal.”

*

Arthur waits until they’re on the plane to check his messages. He sees the message from Mordred, a GIF with cheerleaders jumping up and down.

_You won gold!!!!!_

Arthur grins and texts him back.

_finally fucked merlin too :-D_

Three dots.

_Omg. How ws it?_

Arthur looks over at Merlin, headphones on, eyes closed, baggy sweater hood pulled over his head.

_addictive. he smells like coconut and tastes like heroin._

Three dots.

_Blimey, both druggies then? Wait till the papers find out :-O_

_Hahaa, wait until GAIUS finds out!_

Arthur’s fingers hover over the keyboard.

_am i an idiot_

Three dots.

_U like him like him?_

Arthur sighs.

_yep_

Three dots.

_Go for it. Life’s short. Medals r great but love is the thing they write songs about._

Three dots.

_Is his dick as big as it looks in spandex?_

Arthur snorts.

_r soph’s tits as small as they looked in the tabloids?_

Three dots.

_Wanker._


	4. Falling through the cracks

Being in a relationship with Merlin is wonderful - and easier than Arthur had expected. Not much has changed, really; they’d spent most of their time with each other over the last six months anyway - living in the same hotel, working together. Now they also sleep in the same bed and touch each other constantly, to Arthur’s endless relief and gratitude. It’s bliss being able to wake up and smell Merlin, nuzzle his neck, cuddle him close, kiss him senseless in the shower, wipe jam off his chin at breakfast, and mayonnaise off his chin at lunch, hold his hand on their way home from training, push inside his body night after night, exploring every patch of skin, every scar, every mole, every secret. He’s so drunk on Merlin that sometimes he’s happy just to lie and watch him read.

They go home to England for two weeks over Christmas, liberated from their usual routine for the first time. They spend countless, mindless hours in Arthur’s bed, frantically sharing their bodies with each other in a sweaty, searing, melting haze of unquenchable want. They go out for dinner with Mordred and Sophia, spend Christmas Day with Arthur’s dad, Boxing Day with Merlin’s mum, New Year’s Eve with a mix of both their friends in a raucous London pub. They are blissfully happy for four perfect months, working together with clear mutual respect - despite their frequent differences of opinion - to choreograph their Olympic programs. Everything is great.

And then it all goes wrong.

In early January, seven weeks before the Winter Olympics, Merlin’s old school friend, Will, comes out to Davos for a weekend, to celebrate his 20th birthday. There’s already a media circus in town; hundreds of journalists trying to get the dirt on competitors, first looks at routines, interviews with athletes, training camp gossip. As a result, everyone’s on their best behaviour. Any sign of weakness now will be exploited by the world press, used to influence judge and audience opinion. Arthur and Merlin are under strict instructions to keep a low profile; which is how they find themselves arguing in Arthur’s bedroom shortly before Will’s arrival.

“Arthur, we can’t just keep him locked up in the hotel!” Merlin complains. “He’s come here to party. Freya’s invited us to join her and her friends later.” Freya is a GB snowboarder. “Surely we can take _one_ day off training tomorrow, we’re step-perfect?”

“What about the press conference tomorrow evening?”

“We’ll be fine by then,” Merlin says airily. “Give it a cooked breakfast, a vigorous, sweaty shag, and a nice, long hot shower, and we’ll be good as new.” Arthur sighs.

“You’ve forgotten one, _tiny,_ little problem,” he says dryly. “The town is crawling with paps. Remember Moscow? Can you _imagine_ if that’s the story they get on us, with less than two months before Vancouver? Davos ‘party boys’, not, ‘dedicated professionals’. You know how shit like that can damage skater reputation.” Merlin shakes his head.

“Arthur this is a house party. It’s a lock-in at a chalet one of Freya’s friend’s dad’s owns. It’ll be guest list only.” Arthur puts his hands on Merlin’s hips, kissing his nose apologetically.

“We still can’t afford to get pissed. You know alcohol can degrade optimum performance for up to four days. Not to mention all the other drugs I’m sure people will be taking. We’re being drug tested weekly.” Merlin rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Jesus. I’m not saying we need to go and snort coke off a prostitute’s penis, lover boy. I’m saying, can we take my best friend out for a few beers on his birthday, pretty, pretty please?” He smiles when he sees Arthur softening. “Come on,” he says coaxingly. “It’ll be good for us to relax a bit. You know what they say about over-preparation. We don’t want to go stale.”

Arthur relents, of course, because a recent - if not entirely surprising - revelation, is that he can’t refuse Merlin anything. Merlin grins at him.

“Thank you,” he grins, kissing his way slowly into Arthur’s mouth. Arthur thinks it must be witchcraft, because how he gets hard from the simple touch of Merlin’s lips after more sex than he’s ever had before in his life, he has no idea.

They eat pizza with Will in a local trattoria, before taking a private car to the chalet Merlin promised. It’s full of athletes and local rich kids, but there’s good music and a free bar and a hot tub and an incredible view of the snowy mountains, so Arthur tries to relax, toying with a beer and laughing as Merlin and Will battle each other at Guitar Hero. After forty minutes he leaves them to their antics, recognising Freya smoking weed in a corner. She introduces him to one of her teammates, an incredibly attractive and utterly hilarious Irish man called Gwaine, who seems to be inhaling whisky with his smoke.

It’s not until he starts to feel woozy that he wonders if there’s been more in his recent pint than beer. He looks at Gwaine suspiciously.

“Did you put shots in my drink?” he asks incredulously, rolling his eyes when Gwaine bursts out laughing. “Bastard,” he curses, heading to the tap immediately to get water. He’s lost Will and Merlin, finding them in a basement disco, high as kites. Merlin spins around when he sees Arthur, rubbing himself affectionately against him, like a cat. His eyes are unfocused and Arthur knows he’s on something. He pulls Merlin upstairs and out on to the balcony, relieved to be in freezing, sobering air.

“What did you take?” he asks quietly, moving them into a deserted corner where no-one can hear them.

“Relax,” Merlin says nonchalantly, “it’ll wear off in a few hours.”

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur says, trying not to lose his temper.

“LSD,” Merlin shrugs. “Come on, lighten up, it’s a party.” Arthur looks at his watch.

“We should go home,” he decides. It’s 1am. Merlin shakes his head vehemently.

“I’m having _fun_ , Arthur,” he pleads. “Let me have another hour and then you can drag me home and screw me senseless.” Arthur sighs, frustrated, but acquiesces to Merlin’s requests. He returns to Gwaine, now lying horizontally across a couch with a skinny twink between his legs, dense, perfumed smoke coiling above their heads. Wound up, Arthur breaks the habit of a lifetime and accepts the spliff, taking a couple of tokes. To his surprise, it immediately relaxes him. He melts bonelessly into one of the armchairs, placidly chatting snow gear with the guys. Someone next to him snorts as the twink starts dry-humping Gwaine.

“It’s a different one every night,” he explains lowly to Arthur, “or _ones_ , when he’s being greedy.” He adds a score to a small notebook in his pocket. “We’re keeping tabs on his numbers. Reckon there might be a world record in it.” Arthur smirks and checks his watch. _4am_? When did that happen? He calls for a cab and goes to find Merlin. Predictably, he’s still dancing, although Will has long gone.

“Time to go,” Arthur says firmly, and Merlin pouts but follows him upstairs. “Taxi will be downstairs in five. Where’s Will?” Merlin shrugs, wrapping his arms around Arthur unsteadily.

“Fucked off with some girl. Said he’d see us for breakfast.”

They’re in no state for sex when they get home. Arthur’s starting to feel queasy; the dope and beer and whisky all combining to make his stomach roll. Merlin’s looking pretty worse for wear as well. He groans when Arthur tries to take his shoes off and put him to bed, opting to lie on the bathroom floor instead, which he thanks, personally, for being “so cold and nice.” Arthur gives up and and leaves him there, going to open a window; the heat in the room feels oppressive. He lurches suddenly and rushes into the bathroom to vomit, spending the next hour heaving over the loo bowl. Merlin snores through it.

Once he’s purged, the shaking starts. He puts his head between his knees and shivers until dawn light starts to rise. He hears his training alarm go off at 7am, and crawls into the bedroom to make the noise stop. He lies on the floor, room still spinning, cursing as something that feels a lot like a migraine starts. At some point in his sleepless misery he hears movement from the bathroom, followed by Merlin shuffling into the bedroom. He looks down at Arthur and snorts.

“Did you fall out of bed?” he teases. Arthur doesn’t know that he can speak without vomiting. Merlin rifles through his discarded jacket to find his phone, chuckling when he reads his messages. “Will’s had a very happy birthday,” he informs Arthur, pleased, flopping on to the bed. Arthur’s stomach feels acidic and he checks the time. 2pm. He needs to eat something - the press conference is in three hours. Moaning pathetically, he rolls over, and staggers to the desk in the corner to find the room menu. The idea of chewing makes him want to gag, but he knows protein is supposed to help in these situations. He’s been in them so rarely, he’s no idea if it’s true.

“I’m ordering sausages and mash, do you want something?” he asks Merlin, who nods emphatically from the bed.

“Burger, fries, milkshake,” he says succinctly. Their food arrives and Arthur sits with his plate on the floor, taking tiny mouthfuls. Every time he swallows he feels the overwhelming urge to throw up. Merlin comes to sit beside him after he’s finished his own meal, rubbing his back.

“Do you want paracetamol? Antacids? A flat coke?” Arthur shakes his head, genuinely concerned he’s poisoned himself. It’s 3.30pm.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to do press at five,” he shivers. Merlin looks at him worriedly.

“Why are you this bad?” he asks. Arthur shrugs.

“Guess my body’s not as used to toxins as yours,” he reasons. Merlin frowns and gets a cold bottle of coke from the fridge, opening it and standing it beside Arthur.

“Try to drink that,” he says, “the sugar will help. I’ll have a shower and call Gaius, tell him you have food poisoning.” He seems his usual bright self, snacking on Haribo and drinking a pint of apple juice whilst he sorts himself out, tidies the room a bit, calls their coach. It’s testament to Arthur’s professionalism and work ethic that Gaius doesn’t question the validity of his illness for a moment. At ten to five, Merlin comes and crouches beside Arthur.

“I’ll be a while,” he says, rubbing his back again. “I’ll do press and then me and Will will probably head out for some dinner. Can I bring you anything?” Arthur shakes his head, resting it against the cool wall as Merlin closes the door quietly behind him.

After twenty minutes or so, he thinks perhaps the nausea and intense pressure in his head is lifting, and carefully gets dressed to walk next door to his own room, which is blissfully cool and quiet. He manages a shower, several gallons of water, takes every medication going in his supply kit, and then turns the AC up, pulling a sleeping mask on and climbing into bed in the deliciously arctic room, setting his alarm for 5am.

*

When he wakes up, he feels drastically better. Almost normal, in fact. And very hungry. He has a banana with peanut butter whilst he does his warm-up exercises, gets his running gear on, and then hits the streets, determined to burn any lingering toxins out of his body. He pounds the ground furiously, incredulous that for the first time in his career he’s fucked up, jeopardised his health and fitness, lied to his coach, missed an appointment organised by his sponsor, and all with the Olympics weeks away, when he should be on top form. He gets angrier as he runs: at Merlin for leading him astray; at himself for _letting_ Merlin lead him astray. His stomach clenches when he remembers they’re both being drug tested at 3pm today, as with every Monday, and he’s got no idea whether either of them will pass.

As he reaches the familiar vicinity of their hotel, he feels his lungs and hamstrings burning and looks at his Fitbit in confusion; he never struggles to run. He stumbles when he sees he’s done 13 miles; his usual route is 6-8, mood depending. Somehow he’s totally lost track of time. He sighs and walks the rest of the way back, knowing that more running won’t do his body any good.

It’s nearly 7am when he gets home to his room. He orders fried eggs, wilted spinach and scrambled tofu, soothing his aching muscles in a hot shower and then working through his cool down regime whilst he waits for his food to arrive. He eats, packs his kit bag for the day, makes his regular protein shake, and then switches on his mobile as he heads out to the training complex. He thinks they’re doing CrossFit this morning, actually looking forward to punishing himself some more. He reads various messages from Merlin, last night and this morning, on the way over.

_Press went well. All ur ardent admirers send their recovery wishes (inc. me :p) xx_

_How u feeling? Back from dinner with W, heading to hotel bar for a few beers, want to come down 2 say gbye? He leaves 2moro am xx_

_Just got back to rm, knocked on door, u must be sleeping? Hope u feel better. Want to run together 6ish? Sleep well, miss u very much xx_

_R u awake? X_

_Worried u haven’t read any of my msgs :-(. Heading over to centre now to squeeze in pilates b4 bfast, see u there xx_

He sighs and puts the phone back in his pocket. He knows blaming Merlin for getting sick isn’t fair, but he also knows that if he wasn’t so arse over elbow in love with him, then he wouldn’t have been so easily persuaded to break his routine. Any more fuck-ups like Sunday and they might as well kiss goodbye to Gold.

Merlin is stretching when Arthur arrives, earphones in as usual. He jumps up when he sees Arthur, coming over and sliding his arms around him quickly, before their trainer arrives. It’s not that they’re hiding their relationship, exactly, it’s just that they’re trying to avoid gossip, anything reaching the news that puts focus on their personal lives rather than their professional accomplishments.

“I was worried about you,” he says quietly, nudging his head under Arthur’s chin.

“Yesterday was bad,” Arthur agrees, pulling away.

“Are you okay now?” Merlin asks worriedly. Arthur nods.

“I’m feeling human again,” he replies shortly, stripping out of his jacket and beginning to stretch, muscles still a little sore from his run. Merlin looks at him uncertainly, but further conversation is prevented by the arrival of their instructor.

At 4pm they’re dismissed for the day - after barre, rink practice, drug testing, and press scheduling - and they walk back to the hotel together. Merlin tries to make conversation with Arthur, giving up when he gets nothing but one word answers. In the lift, Merlin is oddly subdued.

“Do you want to do something?” he asks tentatively, chewing his lip. “We could go for a swim? Or just chill, watch some TV?” Arthur wants to be alone.

“I’m still tired. I think I might just go to bed for a bit.” Merlin looks disappointed.

“You seem really out of sorts,” he comments. They reach their floor and begin their way up the corridor.

“Sorry.” There’s not much else to say.

“Arthur,” Merlin pleads, taking Arthur’s arm. “Talk to me. You’re being weird. What’s wrong?” Arthur feels a sudden rush of anger towards Merlin. How can he possibly not know what’s wrong? Merlin must see it in the set of his jaw, because he nods to his room and pushes Arthur inside.

“I said I didn’t want to go out,” Arthur says shortly, once the door’s closed, too tired and cross to speak anything but plainly. “It was a bad decision. It wiped me out for a day, I still feel off. I’ve got no idea whether either of us will pass the drug test, I lied to Gaius for the first time in my life, and I missed press. That’s the first time I’ve ever done something that might jeopardise my career.” Merlin looks at him in silence, brow furrowed.

“It this about Mordred?” he asks, confused.

“No, Merlin!” Arthur says, angrily. “This is about _you_ , and _you_ not taking this seriously. I already had one dance partner who let his social life ruin his career - along with mine, potentially - and I can’t deal with it happening again _seven weeks_ before we’re due to perform at the Olympics, with a great chance of Gold!” Merlin recoils from his rage, face clouding.

“Of course I take this seriously,” he says quietly. “I’ve never missed a single training session, I’ve never let you down. We’ve already won two Golds together. We deal with pressure differently, sure, I eat chocolate and like the odd beer and night out dancing. But you’ll notice I know my limits; it’s _never_ affected my work.”

“Fine, but being with you _is_ affecting mine,” Arthur says, deflating. “This is exactly what I was worried about. Feeling the way I do about you, loving you, it’s made me lose focus. I didn’t want to let you down on Saturday, and I let myself down instead.” Merlin’s face is half sad, half angry. He stares at the carpet for a while.

“You’ve never said that you love me before,” he says eventually. Arthur looks at him impatiently.

“You know I do.” Merlin takes a breath, reaching for Arthur’s hand.

“And you know I love you,” he says seriously. “I’m sorry Saturday night was shit for you, and I’m sorry you feel cross, and guilty, and angry about it. But it’s done. Draw a line. If you don’t want to come out when I go out, that’s fine.” Arthur shakes his head.

“I can’t just draw a line, Merlin. I feel like this has all got too much, my head’s a mess. I think we need to take a breather for a while, until the Olympics are over.”

“You want to break up?” Merlin clarifies, face white. Arthur groans in frustration.

“No, Merlin, listen to what I’m actually saying. We’re seven weeks away from a shot at Gold. Can’t we just put our sex lives on hold for two months and focus on that? Then we’ve got four years until the next Olympics to spend together, if that’s what we want.” Merlin snatches his hand away, face reddening.

“You can’t just put love on ice, Arthur! You can’t flick a switch and shut me out of your heart to focus on a competition, and then allow me back in when it suits you! That’s not how it works.”

“There aren’t rules for how something should ‘work’,” Arthur argues. “Everyone has to do what’s right for them.”

“Right, and in this situation, that would mean what’s right for _you_ , and to hell with what I want?” Merlin asks witheringly. Arthur says nothing.

“Basically you’re saying that I’m not as important as a gold medal,” Merlin summarises, pushing him. “You’re overreacting. We’ve had two nights out in ten months. This weekend you had some bad hash. It’s not in the papers, it hasn’t fucked up our training, it’s weeks away from Vancouver, it won’t show up in testing - we weren’t doing coke and heroin for god’s sake, you smoked a tiny bit of weed! And your solution to this _hangover_ , let’s be honest, is to take a break? Are you joking?”

“Are you?” Arthur really loses his temper. “You’re nineteen. If you don’t get Gold this time and you want to keep skating, you’ll be 23 at the next Olympics, my age, still young enough to get Gold then. I’ll be 27 next time round, and who knows whether I’ll be able to compete by then, whether there’ll have been too many sporting injuries. You know the life of an athlete is short. I’ll be _old,_ next time. I’ve got my whole life to be in love, and potentially only seven weeks left to fulfil my lifelong professional ambition. If you really loved me, you’d get that. All I’m asking for is a mutual commitment to make that our _temporary_ priority. Get back into a single-focus mindset, make sure there are no more slip ups.”

“And it’s just so easy, is it, to be close to me and not to want to touch me, or make love to me?” Merlin asks quietly.

“It’s not forever, it’s for a few weeks,” Arthur says, struggling to stay patient.

“I’m not like you,” Merlin says, “I _can’t_ just switch it on and off. It’ll eat me _alive_ being around you but not being able to have you.” Arthur’s heart twinges, and he leans forwards to kiss Merlin softly. Merlin moans into his mouth, pressing his body against Arthur’s, but Arthur gently disentangles him.

“Merlin, for me, skating’s always been about control, that’s how I’m good. For you it’s innate, I know, so you’ll never get what it takes to have to _work_ at it. But for me, it’s about control. And when I’m emotionally wrapped up in you, I’m _not_ fully in control. I think that’s why I panicked yesterday, it was like somebody else was in my body. I just need to create a situation in which I’m control again, temporarily. It’ll calm me down, help me focus. Please.” Merlin shakes his head in disagreement with Arthur’s premise, but moves away in resignation.

“You’ve already decided,” he says monotone. Arthur doesn’t deny it.

“I’m sorry,” he says simply. They stand in silence for a while, before Arthur realises that he’s in Merlin’s room, and he’s the one who’s going to have to leave. “I’m going to order some food, get an early night,” he says. “See you in the rink?” Merlin nods, looking away as Arthur picks up his sports bag and goes.

*

The next day at training, Merlin barely says a word. They work in quiet, focused silence, skating perfectly. Merlin’s polite, Arthur’s polite. He’s grateful Merlin’s giving him the space he needs. Their drug tests come back clear, and Arthur begins to feel like his old self again.

They get through their last month in Davos, the pre-circuit press tour, and then arrive at the Olympic village in Vancouver ten days before the event starts, leaving time to get used to the complex, the rink. Despite having not spent a day apart, Arthur feels like he hasn’t really _seen_ Merlin since their conversation six weeks ago. All their snarking has gone, their banter. Somehow it’s made it easier; it’s like Merlin’s giving Arthur less of himself to miss.

At the end of their first week in Canada, Arthur actually begins to relax; they haven’t messed up either of their programs in weeks. He smiles at Merlin at the end of their practice session on Friday.

“Three more days before it all starts, and then we’re finally done,” he grins, hoping Merlin knows he’s counting down the days to being ‘reunited’.

“Yeah, it’ll be good to have a break,” Merlin says, packing up his skates and beginning to get changed.

“I guess the last few weeks have been pretty intense,” Arthur says reflectively. Merlin’s eyes flicker to his, briefly.

“It’s certainly stopped being fun,” he answers shortly. Arthur doesn’t know what he means. Skating’s always been a discipline. Something to learn, perfect, and execute. It’s the challenge that makes it enjoyable.

“We’re doing so well,” Arthur says encouragingly. “China’s not as strong as we thought they might be.” Merlin shrugs.

“I never really minded about winning,” he says flatly. “It was the exhilaration, the emotion of skating, that I loved.”

“Loved?” Arthur says uncertainly, noting Merlin’s use of the past tense.

“Well, we dance without emotion now, don’t we? That’s not natural for me, I find it tiring. I’m looking forward to it all being over.” He sounds dejected and un-Merlinlike, and Arthur wants to make it better. He’s thinking about suggesting a holiday, to Barbados, or Hawaii, or somewhere without snow, when Merlin finishes lacing up his sneakers and stands up.

“I’m heading out with the GB lot, letting my hair down a bit. See you on Monday?” Arthur nods mutely, hurting as Merlin leaves without a backwards glance. Suddenly it feels like a very long and lonely weekend is looming ahead.

He heads home feeling subdued, and like maybe he’s lost something, for the first time. It was easy to focus on Gold thinking it was just a countdown to being with Merlin again, but he’s never seen Merlin so lifeless. He misses him. He orders soup and a tuna salad for supper, settling down to watch Friends on TV, and to catch up with some personal emails. He turns his lights out at 10pm, and sets his usual training alarm.

Some hours later, he wakes with a start, conscious of there having been a crash, or a loud noise of some kind nearby. He glances at the bedside clock. It’s flashing 03:23. He hears swearing and laughter from the room next door - Merlin’s room - and two voices whispering to each other. It takes his sleep-addled brain time to compute that Merlin’s brought someone home with him, and he freezes as he suddenly hears a soft moan he knows well. His lungs fill with icy coldness when he realises Merlin’s having sex with someone else. The betrayal astounds him. He sits up dizzily, feeling like he might be sick, and that’s when the real nightmare starts: the unmistakable sound of a headboard thudding against the wall. Arthur knows on each thud, someone else’s cock is driving into Merlin, and it’s a dagger to his heart each time. Arthur can’t stay in bed. He goes to the bathroom and splashes his face with water, sitting on the cold, tiled floor. If anything, the sounds seem louder in here. He can hear Merlin’s groans interspersed with someone else’s grunts, bursts of laughter, a headboard thudding faster and faster, and then Merlin crying out, _Gwaine!_

Arthur closes his eyes. He remembers the good looking, bearded snowboarder, full of cheeky charm, and well on his way into the Guinness World Records for fucking the most people in a competition season. He feels worse, now able to picture the man who’s just made Merlin orgasm, who’s lying against his naked skin kissing him, exploring all the private parts of him that belong to Arthur, learning what it feels like to be buried inside his tight body. Gwaine yells his release, and then there’s silence. Arthur slowly removes himself from the bathroom floor and gets back into bed. He’d seriously underestimated how much Merlin could hurt him, how jealous he was capable of being. He’s no longer the last person to have touched him, to have loved him, to have made him come. The thought of ever looking at Merlin again makes Arthur feel like breaking a window, let alone dancing opposite him, touching him. He can’t believe Merlin couldn’t wait three more weeks. That he would even _want_ someone who wasn’t Arthur. It feels like it’s over. The pain is unbelievable. The nausea. The anger. He falls into an uneasy sleep, waking up two hours later to more gentle, rhythmic thumping, muted groans. Arthur feels a sob shake through him and buries his face in his pillow, crying for the first time since he was about nine. He can’t get back to sleep.

At 6am he gets up and runs himself a bath, figuring he’ll skip the run and head straight for a museum instead, get away from the hotel. Returning to the bathroom - and it’s superior acoustics - proves to be another error in judgement. Arthur hears a shower being turned on, two voices, the wet sounds of skin on skin contact, more whimpering. The masochist in him stays to hear it, indexing every last betrayal. He dozes on the armchair in his bedroom, waiting for future sounds. There’s nothing. At 11am an alarm clock goes off, and there’s a groan. Something about breakfast. There’s a muted, low response from Merlin, and Gwaine’s cheerful ‘shame’, along with something else Arthur can’t hear. And then the door to Merlin’s bedroom closes and he hears footsteps heading up the corridor towards the lifts.

With the sex show definitely over, Arthur is suddenly exhausted, and goes to bed for the rest of the day. It’s very out of character for him. He orders room service, eats, watches a film on his laptop, with headphones, mindful of the thin walls, careful not to let Merlin hear him make a sound. On Sunday he leaves the village early to go into downtown Vancouver. He breaks his regime and gets a cream cheese bagel for breakfast, eating it on a cold park bench, watching the pigeons search for food in the freezing ground, waiting for the national art gallery to open. When it does, he spends a few hours there. He finds a noodle bar for lunch, buys a street map to help him navigate the city centre, realises his extremities have gone numb, and heads for home. He bumps into Merlin coming out of his bedroom as he returns to his room. He stares at Arthur, ashen-faced. He’s clearly on his way to the pool, towel in hand, wearing flip-flops. His eyes look suspiciously shiny and he bites his lip, trying to smile.

“Been somewhere nice?” he asks. Arthur walks past him without a response, relieved to make it to his room. He does a newspaper crossword, speaks to his dad, who’s flying over tomorrow, and goes to bed.

*

Monday is hell. Merlin can’t look at Arthur; he seems nervous, jumpy and emotional. Arthur goes through their routines like he’s holding an unexploded bomb, not a human, touching him gingerly and with clear distaste. Gaius is watching them with narrowed eyes. When they come off the ice after their short program run-through, he looks at both of them gravely.

“What happened?” he asks shortly. Neither Merlin or Arthur responds. “Sort it out,” Gaius says sternly. “Go and get lunch, and sort it out. You look like robots out there.” They don’t move. “Christ,” he mutters, “do you need me to lock you in a room together?” Arthur shakes his head stiffly and leaves the room, Merlin following him. They exchange blades for trainers and head to the canteen for lunch. Fortunately it’s still early and relatively quiet, so they find a table to themselves in the corner, and sit staring at their trays.

“I heard you,” Arthur says eventually, looking at Merlin coldly as he raises his eyes to meet Arthur’s. “Fucking him.” Merlin flinches like he’s been slapped. “You forgot about those thin hotel walls,” Arthur says nastily.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Is that it?” Arthur feels an icy coldness, the rage blocking out any pain. Merlin looks distraught.

“I missed you. I was angry with you. I got drunk.” More tears slide down his face. “ _Really_ drunk.” He shakes his head. “I was dancing and a guy who’d been flirting with me earlier started touching me. He kissed me.” Merlin’s face twists in anguish. “It felt nice to forget being sad. I let him do what he wanted, we came back to my room. Carried on drinking. It all happened in a blur.” Merlin’s lip is nearly bitten through. “When I woke up it was mid-morning and I wanted him gone. I was disgusted with myself.”

“Good,” Arthur says. “That makes two of us.” Merlin looks at Arthur desperately.

“It meant nothing, Arthur, I swear. I _swear._ I love you so much,” he says, crying again. His devastation and clear remorse cracks Arthur’s resolve. His shield of anger dissipates, leaving raw, oozing hurt. He sits with Merlin until he stops crying, not knowing what to say. Eventually Merlin wipes his face with a napkin. He picks up his fork. “Better get something down before training later,” he says, muffled, twirling up some spaghetti.

“We need to sort our shit out,” Arthur sighs, pushing his food away and drinking the small carton of milk instead. “We’re about to dance the story of a doomed relationship for our long program. Should be one we can both relate to.” Merlin doesn’t answer, keeping his eyes on his plate, eating his pasta. “We can’t ignore each other in front of Gaius,” Arthur says. Merlin nods his agreement. They finish their lunch silently and walk back towards the rink. Arthur notices a faded bruise at the base of Merlin’s pale throat and the most furious, possessive, caveman-like rage suddenly comes over him. He pulls Merlin into one of the warm-up cells, locking the door behind them.

“What -?” Merlin says in surprise, groaning as Arthur cuts him off with an angry kiss, biting Gwaine out of Merlin’s mouth. Merlin responds in kind, desperately pressing his whole body close to Arthur’s, arching against him, pulling his head down to his neck, gasping at Arthur’s bruising kisses. He unlaces his sweatpants and pushes them down his thighs, and Arthur does the same, urgently pulling down his track pants and boxers. He turns Merlin to face the wall and slides a hand between his arse cheeks, holding Merlin open whilst he thrusts in dry - and bare. Merlin shudders in pain, face pressed against the wall as Arthur reclaims his body, biting his lip on every painful entry, wincing at the dry friction.

“Did you use condoms with him?” Arthur asks. Tears begin to slide down Merlin's face. 

“Yes,” he whispers.

“How many times did he make you come?” Arthur asks. Merlin closes his eyes.

“Don’t, Arthur,” he pleads, gasping as Arthur spears him open.

“I want to know,” Arthur says firmly, watching his cock disappear inside Merlin, again and again. Merlin clenches his jaw, surrendering to Arthur’s possession.

“Three,” he answers dully.

“How?” Arthur asks brutally, punishing Merlin by forcing him to relive the memory of his betrayal. 

“Stop this,” he begs, crying as Arthur finds his prostate and grinds slowly against his arse.

“I said I want to know,” Arthur repeats. Merlin wipes his face on his arm.

“He went down on me, I came, then he fucked me and he came. We drank a bit. He fucked me again and jerked me off, we came at the same time. We drank some more. We had a shower. I went down on him, he came; he rimmed me, I came.” Merlin’s voice is lifeless.

“Was he good in bed?” Merlin takes a long time to respond.

“Yes,” he replies eventually, wanting to answer honestly, voice breaking. Arthur pulls hard at Merlin’s cock and is rewarded by him shuddering his release all over the wall, groaning as he releases himself inside Merlin at the same time. He stays still, panting at Merlin’s back, fingers sliding down to feel the place where his seed seeps out of Merlin. Merlin doesn’t move. They both wait for their breathing to calm, then quietly separate and go about re-dressing themselves, Merlin mopping up his semen with the inside sleeve of his Team GB jacket. Then they sit side-by-side on the floor against the wall.

“I’m still yours,” he whispers, sliding his fingers against Arthur’s in the space between them.

“I’m so angry with you,” Arthur admits, hanging his head.

“I know,” Merlin says quietly.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you.” Merlin raises a hand to turn Arthur’s cheek to look at him. Arthur can’t bear to see his anguish, leaning across to kiss him gently, softly caressing his mouth. Merlin breaks away and presses his forehead to Arthur’s.

“Please try.”


	5. Showtime

They wait with Gaius for their practice slot at the rink, gliding on to run through their long program. It’s a passionate, highly-charged routine anyway, but today it’s particularly intense between him and Merlin, both about to fall apart, holding each other together with sheer force of will. They barely break eye contact, moving in flawless tandem, but two thirds of the way through their dance, Arthur sees a strain on Merlin’s face as he shifts his posture awkwardly, struggling to maintain sequence, and he knows what’s going to happen as soon he throws him into the air, watching him twist badly and fluff his landing, crumpling to the ground on impact.

“Shit,” Arthur mutters, lifting Merlin up, supporting him to the boards. Gaius takes Merlin’s elbow as soon as they’re on solid ground.

“Go home Arthur,” he says, bending down to examine Merlin’s leg with their physio. Arthur looks at his coach in horror. Gaius raises an eyebrow. “I mean it, go home. You two aren’t in your right minds today, and there’s no way you’ll be skating again until we’ve assessed what damage Merlin’s done. There’s nothing you can do here.”

Arthur looks at Merlin, grimacing in pain on the floor, and backs away, feeling dreadful. He follows Gaius’ orders, pacing his room until he hears voices in the hall; Merlin’s door clicking open and closed. He listens for the sounds he’s expecting; Merlin’s usual post-training routine. The shower switches on. Ten minutes later it switches off. He waits for the creak of the bed before picking up his room card and going round to knock on Merlin’s door. There’s some shuffling before it opens, Merlin standing back to let him in. He’s in soft tartan flannel pyjama bottoms and a worn t-shirt, damp hair curling at his neck. He closes the door and limps ahead of Arthur, climbing back on to the bed and shimmying out of his bottoms until he’s just in boxers, carefully applying heat patches to his thigh, and ice packs to his ankle. There’s a bottle of painkillers on his bedside table. Arthur sits beside him.

“How bad is it?” he asks, nodding to his leg. Merlin glances at him.

“I’m staying off it for the next two or three days. No more practicing. If I keep it raised, keep the muscles stretched, and do a couple of hours in physio every day, then I should be okay to skate the short program.” Arthur clasps his hands together.

“It’s my fault,” he says sombrely. Merlin raises his eyebrows.

“I fucked you without prep. You were sore. It affected your posture, that’s why you fell.” Merlin doesn’t deny it, but he doesn't blame Arthur either.

“I wanted you inside me too,” he says quietly. 

“Fuck,” Arthur curses, wondering how they’ve managed to screw this up so spectacularly. Merlin puts his hand on Arthur’s, eyes tearing.

“Please stay,” he implores Arthur, face a picture of profound desperation. Arthur nods, exhausted. He strips down to his t-shirt and boxers too, and pulls the spare duvet from the top of the wardrobe, getting onto the bed beside Merlin and covering them in the warm blanket. Merlin curls into his arms and Arthur breathes him in again, wondering how he’s gone seven weeks without doing this. He strokes Merlin’s hair until he hears his breathing settle into sleep, and then he sleeps too.

They wake up at about 8pm. Arthur strokes Merlin’s face.

“You hungry?” he checks. Merlin looks at his mouth and Arthur smiles, leaning down to kiss him. He feels them both harden against each other’s thighs, and draws away, knowing that Merlin needs rest. He curls into Arthur’s side again sleepily. “How about steak and greens and a bottle of red?” Arthur suggests, kissing away Merlin’s frown. “I think this is one of those occasions where we need to chill.” Merlin smiles wanly and nods. “Brownies for pudding?”

“You don’t eat sugar,” Merlin points out. Arthur really doesn’t give a monkeys at this point.

“Guess I’ll die later,” he shrugs.

Once the order’s in, he switches on the TV, pulling Merlin into his arms as they watch one of the Mission Impossible movies. He glances down to find Merlin looking up at him, head in the crook of his arm and chest, fingers resting above his heart.

“I love you,” Merlin says. “So much. Seeing you skate these last few weeks, all that golden brilliance. It hurt looking and not being able to touch. Not being able to talk to you properly. Everything about you dazzles me, Arthur.” Arthur’s heart flip-flops in his chest and he shifts down the bed slightly, so that he’s face-to-face with Merlin.

“I love you too,” he stresses. “Completely. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that I didn’t.” Tears spring into Merlin’s eyes and Arthur kisses him softly. Lying entwined in each other’s warmth, doing nothing but look into each other’s eyes, stroking each other’s faces, all the broken pieces in Arthur seem to twist slowly back into place. He feels completely in control - but in love too. Winning Gold suddenly seems entirely irrelevant to him.

They eat supper and brush their teeth and climb into bed. Arthur spoons Merlin, cradling him in his arms. For a relationship that’s involved a lot of teasing and snarking, they don’t speak at all, just absorbing each other’s closeness like plants absorb sunlight, constantly stroking, finding each other’s mouths to trade gentle kisses. They spend most of Tuesday in bed doing the same thing. They take a hot bath together to help Merlin’s leg, Merlin lying back against him, eyes closed, and he slides a hand down to his cock, stroking him gently to completion. Merlin reaches down and does the same, kissing Arthur as he does so, until Arthur’s squirting his release against Merlin’s back. He goes out for a three-hour massage and physio session and comes back sore, curling into Arthur’s arms again.

On Wednesday they take a swim, spend some time in the sauna. That evening it’s the Olympic opening ceremony, which they attend, walking in their Team GB uniforms in the parade. Merlin goes red when he sees Gwaine ahead of them, almost paralysed with guilt, but Arthur doesn’t want to be angry anymore. He links his pinkie with Merlin’s.

“His friends are keeping tally,” he says conversationally, nodding ahead. “Reckon they can get him a world record for bedding the most Olympians.” Merlin glances at him, pale faced.

“I didn’t realise you knew him,” he says, voice laced with apology.

“We hung out on Will’s birthday,” Arthur shrugs. “He’s nice.” Merlin presses his face into the side of Arthur’s arm in a gesture of gratitude, apology, love, and Arthur squeezes Merlin’s fingers.

They watch some of the initial coverage from Merlin’s bed on Thursday - the first rounds of the Giant Slalom and Ski Jumping events. Arthur feels they’re in their own little world. They go down to the rink late, when it’s emptied, to test Merlin’s leg before their short program tomorrow. He skates fluidly, jumps perfectly, and loops his arms around Arthur’s neck as he’s caught, pressing himself against Arthur’s chest.

“Okay?” Arthur murmurs, and Merlin nods, smiling with relief.

Suddenly it’s Friday. The first hurdle to getting the Gold they’ve been working towards all year. They sit quietly in the rink perimeter with Gaius, watching their competitors. When they’re next to be called, they take off their tracksuits and begin to stretch, revealing matching gold costumes beneath; they’re dancing as lions, powerful and free.

Arthur takes Merlin’s hand as they’re announced and smiles at him, gliding out into the rink with poise and elegance. They crouch down on the ice, opposite each other, waiting for the music to start. As soon as the opening notes of The Lion King’s ‘He Lives in You’ start to play, they unfurl themselves and glide backwards from each other in smooth, swirling arcs. Merlin grins at Arthur as he raises his arms and spins, shooting off for Arthur to give chase, animals hunting each other in the African savannah, jumping powerfully into the air in tandem to whooping catcalls from a packed stadium. They land in perfect sync, Arthur grabbing Merlin’s arm and swinging him up above his head, flying with him aloft, the proud leader of the pack and his chosen one. Merlin swings out of the pose with acrobatic precision, sliding through Arthur’s arms and down his body and skating in huge, swooping circles to pick up speed before being lifted again for a complicated series of throws: two triple axels delivered in a row; jumping to stand on Arthur’s legs as they glide, Arthur as mountain, eyes closed to the wind; looping his legs around Arthur’s waist and reaching backwards to trail his fingers over the ice in a mesmerising, hydroplaning finish. They come to a stop as the music fades out, holding their final pose for a moment, and then sweep upwards for their bow. The crowd is thundering, and they smile and wave as they make their way back to Gaius, who is fist pumping the air, putting their jackets on to stay warm as they move to the kiss and cry to wait for their results.

The leader’s board is:

USA: 85.31

Japan: 83.57

China: 83.18

Canada: 82.78

Germany: 82.56

They watch their program component scores go up one at a time: Technical, Execution, Artistry, Composition, Interpretation. Merlin whoops as 85.45 flashes up as their total score and they go to the top of the board. They’re the front runners for Gold, with four days until their free skate. Arthur hugs Merlin for the cameras, and Gaius, and can’t stop beaming as their friends and family come to congratulate them; his dad, Mordred, Hunith, Will. They stick around to watch the remaining competitors, an expected courtesy, and then it’s straight back to ice baths and physio, particularly for Merlin, before they’re released. Merlin’s kept back for a sports massage, so Arthur heads to their hotel without him. He arranges to see his dad and Mordred for a celebratory dinner, has a quick shower, and texts Merlin on his way out.

_going out with dad and M for food_ , _have fun with ur mum and Will xx_

They eat in the hotel restaurant, Uther telling Arthur how proud he is of him, how his mum would have been proud too, a figure skater herself. He excuses himself after dinner to make a business call, leaving Arthur and Mordred to catch up. Mordred punches him playfully on the arm.

“First place already? Jammy bastard.” Arthur shrugs modestly.

“There’s a long way to go yet.” The free program can be awarded double the points of the short.

“You and Merlin seem solid though. You kind of … _glow,_ together.” Arthur looks up at him quizzically. “Seriously,” Mordred says. “We were good as a team, sure, but you guys … it’s like watching a lava lamp or something.” Arthur looks at him deadpan.

“Mordred, what the _hell_ are you talking about?”

“You know, all mesmerising and floaty, weirdly hypnotic balls of goo revolving around each other.”

“Great. I’ll pass the ‘ball of goo’ feedback on to Merlin.” Mordred salutes him, ordering another beer. Arthur’s drinking water.

“How are you guys doing?” he asks, peeling the label off his empty bottle. “You know, off the ice?” Arthur knows he’s been silent with Mordred on the texting front lately.

“We’ve had our ups and downs,” he says evasively. “Living and working with each other is an intense mix.”

“You’re telling me,” Mordred nods emphatically. He looks at Arthur speculatively. “Look, I’ve got something to tell you.” Arthur raises an eyebrow, nods that he’s listening. “It may or may not come as a surprise, but I’m not planning to come back when my ban lifts at the end of this season.” Arthur had been actively avoiding thinking about what might happen if Mordred wanted to resume his place by Arthur’s side. He feels relieved. “Me and Sophia have set up a business together. In fashion; helpful that she’s model. Contacts, you know? Designer sunglasses, accessories, that sort of thing.” Arthur snorts.

“Cocaine powder trinket lockets, _that_ sort of thing?” Mordred clicks his fingers.

“That’s a brilliant idea, actually, very Cruel Intentions.” Arthur groans.

“You’re incorrigible.” Mordred smiles.

“I’ve enjoyed life away from the 5am starts and toxin-free dietary regime too much.”

“Fair enough,” Arthur says. He gets it. Skating’s never really been in Mordred’s blood, not the way it is with Arthur. “You’ll always be family, you know that.”

“Bloody right,” Mordred grins. “Who else would put up with you for this long?” Arthur smiles, something in his heart hurting. Maybe he _is_ too difficult to put up with long-term. “Anyway,” Mordred says, taking his new beer from the waitress with a nod, “that opens up a permanent place by your side for Merlin.” Arthur’s never asked Merlin what his future plans are. Whether he wants to return to dancing. Whether this was just a year of fun and new adventure.

“I’ll tell him,” he says noncommittally.

He hears the TV in Merlin’s bedroom when he gets upstairs, just before 10pm, and knocks on the door. It opens moments later and Arthur slips in, hearing Merlin lock it behind him. He undresses as Merlin climbs back into bed, putting a hot water bottle to the side of his thigh.

“Quads are a bit sore,” he explains, in response to Arthur’s enquiring expression. He’s drinking vodka, and it looks like he’s taken more painkillers.

“You’re not doing more damage by skating on it, are you?” Arthur asks worriedly, climbing in beside him. Merlin shakes his head.

“Gaius says not. But it’s still healing and it had quite a workout today. I’ll be fine by the free skate.” He leans back against his pillows, putting the TV on mute.

“How was your evening?” Arthur asks.

“We got room service in mum’s room. Will went off to see the girl he met from the GB team when he was in Davos.” He looks at Arthur with a strange expression. “I thought maybe you’d want us all to celebrate together.” He poses it as a statement rather than a question. Arthur blinks. He hadn’t even thought of that.

“Sorry,” he says. Merlin shrugs.

“Where did you go with your family?”

“Downstairs,” Arthur says. “Had a bit of a heart-to-heart with Mordred, actually.” Merlin quirks his brow in question. “Apparently he’s setting up some kind of fashion empire with Sophia; he’s not coming back to skating when his ban lifts in a few weeks.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, watching him carefully. “How’d you feel about that?”

“I’m not surprised, really. But it does mean there’s an official opening for a permanent partner. We’ve never talked about what your long-term plans are, but I guess you’ve got first refusal, if you want it.” Merlin chews his lip.

“Thank you for the offer,” he says eventually. “It’s definitely something I’ll think about.” Arthur can’t help but feel disappointed by Merlin’s lukewarm response.

“Right,” he says, a little wrong-footed. He lies back and puts an arm behind his head. “Is it because you’ve stopped enjoying it?” he asks, remembering Merlin’s words in the locker room. Merlin frowns, shaking his head.

“When things are good between us, skating is the most exhilarating thing in the world,” he explains, trying to work out his feelings as he speaks. “When things _aren’t_ good between us, it’s incredibly stifling. The rules, routine, regiment, hotel living, daily training. I guess I’ve realised the element that makes it fun for me, is you,” he looks at Arthur. “And I can’t do this again. You wanting me, or not wanting me, depending on your mood. Sometimes just being your dance partner. It’s damaged both of us.” Arthur can’t deny that’s true. Their easy, teasing dynamic has got lost, somewhere along the way.

“So, it’s a different question then?” he asks slowly, trying to make sense of what Merlin’s saying. “It’s a question of whether or not we both want a relationship?”

“It’s a question of whether or not _you_ want a relationship,” Merlin responds. “My position has always been clear. It’s you that had the issue with us, not me.” Arthur accepts the criticism, it’s fair. And he _does_ want both. But he can’t make a commitment that big whilst they’re both still hurting. Merlin looks away when he realises Arthur’s not going to respond; believing, no doubt, that it's another rejection.

They fill the next few days with final training; do a bit of sightseeing with their friends and family. They’re affectionate and quiet with each other, both knowing there’s a painful question hanging over them, but wanting to be close regardless. They hold hands, not bothering to hide what they are to each other publicly anymore, sleep in the same bed at night. There’s no sex. Not since the angry wall sex that threatened to end their Olympic season. Arthur can feel Merlin harden against him each night, cock pressing against Arthur’s leg between the fabric of their of pyjama bottoms; he knows Merlin's waiting for Arthur to respond. But all Arthur can hear every time he’s tempted to reach down and bury himself inside the man he loves is a thudding headboard, Merlin moaning _Gwaine_.

On the morning of their free program, they lie in bed for a long time, past their alarms, foreheads pressed together, quietly giving strength to each other. They have breakfast, go through their warm up routines, get into their costumes. Arthur looks every inch the swashbuckling hero in a billowing white shirt open down to his navel, rippling muscles visible beneath, and black ballroom dancing trousers and skates. Merlin is in a sheer burgundy leotard, sequins and crystals crawling up his neck, lips and cheeks reddened with make-up; the embodiment of temptation, the seductress. When they meet to head down to the rink, they look at each other appreciatively.

“ _Epic_ boner,” Merlin mouths, and Arthur grins, suddenly struck dumb by how _beautiful_ Merlin is again. Masculine, yes, but beautiful. It swarms low in his belly, the need to ravish and _own_ this astonishing man. He clears his throat.

“No-one’s going to be looking at me,” he manages, and he aches as a pleased flush spreads up Merlin’s neck and into his cheeks.

They meet Gaius on the edge of the boards, watching Canada’s free skate. The music is amazing - the Hans Zimmer S.T.A.Y Interstellar Madis Remix - it sounds like travelling through space. The costumes match their interstellar theme - an iridescent, galaxy blue, studded with Swarovski crystals - and they’re flying through air and time together, spinning and spiralling in perfect synchronicity through their imaginary journey across the stars. Arthur sees the emotion on Merlin’s face. Something inside him burns in response to Merlin; he feels more aware of him than he has in months. He reaches down to squeeze Merlin’s fingers, surprised when a tear slides down his face. They end in an embrace, curled together on the ice. Arthur and Merlin clap along with everyone else.

And then it’s their turn. They skate out on to the ice together, holding hands, and separate to take their starting positions, several feet apart, looking at each other with smouldering intensity, ready to begin their ice tango; the most famously sexual and passionate of all ballroom dances. The opening lines of ‘The Show Must Go On’ start, plucked strings with a showman’s booming voice-over … _Another hero, another mindless crime_ … and Merlin and Arthur begin to skate in circles around each other as their seduction begins, gentle interconnecting loops, with a difficult spin from Merlin as he jumps backwards into Arthur’s arms, legs curled backwards around Arthur’s waist in a highly sexually-suggestive position, showcasing their foreplay to _oohs_ from the crowd. They move into a series of partner spins and spirals with deft footwork, showing the courtship part of their story, the couple falling in love; close, intimate elements that keep them side-by-side, or pressed together, looking into each other’s eyes. It’s soft, sensual, hypnotising, and Arthur puts Merlin down as the tempo ups and changes, morphing into the introductory bars of the hugely primal ‘El Tango de Roxanne’. 

They break out in synchronised tandem across the ice, Merlin leading, Arthur following, side-by-side double toes, split jumps, moving into the angsty part of the dance where betrayal is to come. It’s a strange echo of life reflecting art; Merlin cheating on Arthur. Arthur’s never been so aware of Merlin as a man - athlete, lover, cheater - as he is in this moment. He feels every lyric as the showman’s warning is looped over the music … _will drive you, will drive you, will drive you, mad!_

The famous ‘ _Roxanne’_ crescendo begins, and the audience goes mad as Merlin and Arthur begin to fight/fuck on ice, pulling off an intimate, intricate, synchronised sequence of technical feats: butterfly kicks into back camels; provocative a-frames; chasing cantilevers, crouching low, backs inches from the ice; spider lunges, backs arched into the air in mimicry of sex, arms thrown back over their heads, trailing along the ice, knees to the ground. Then as their relationship story breaks down, they break out of sync, and Merlin flies away from Arthur, spinning and jumping as though into another man’s arms. Arthur chases him furiously around the rink, wanting to catch Merlin as much as the audience wants him to. Merlin’s cheeks are pink, eyes laser focused, body coiled as he leads Arthur on a dance that covers the rink. Arthur catches him and pulls him back into his arms as Ewan McGregor begins to sing the betrayed lover’s lyrics … _h_ _is eyes upon your face, his hand upon your hand, his lips caress your skin, it's more than I can stand_ … and Arthur’s eyes and lungs burn with stinging emotion, overwhelming him as Merlin catches his eye, face streaked with heartbroken tears, feeling the truth of their routine every bit as much as Arthur. 

They spin across the rink, not breaking eye contact as Arthur throws and catches Merlin, twirling together with Arthur’s hand wrapped around Merlin’s throat, Merlin dropping into a low lunge as Arthur grabs his hair, one hand on his shoulder to do the steering, apparently pulling Merlin by his hair back across the ice in an act of violent passion and furious rage as the next lyrics are sung … _Why does my heart cry? feelings I can’t fight, you’re free to leave me, but just don’t deceive me, and please, believe me when I say, I love you_ … As the _I love you_ is sung, Merlin is pulled upright and thrown straight into a jump, Arthur spinning him into a seated position, the most sexual of all their positions yet, with his crotch to Arthur’s face and legs wrapped around Arthur’s head to the absolute frenzy of the screaming, stamping audience. Merlin cradles Arthur’s head as he slides breathlessly down Arthur’s body and into the gentle spin that leads them into the final part of their dance; reconciliation and forgiveness. 

Gentle piano music alters the tone and leads them into ‘Come What May’, delivering the audience’s expected fairytale romantic ending, packed with technical element after technical element, and combining their skill sets perfectly; story, performance and technique. They mirror each other in feathery, dreamy spread eagle spirals, low hydroblading arcs, delicate laybacks, ballerina spins, holding each other close with visible tenderness as the Disney-friendly lyrics fill the room … _suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace, suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste, it all revolves around you …_ Arthur’s heart soars with the music, flying with Merlin. They look tearfully into each other’s eyes, emotion pouring out of both of them as the crescendo of their performance nears, Merlin flying upwards and being caught by Arthur, the final lyrics sung out, two voices together, male and female, booming across the stadium … _storm clouds may gather, and stars may collide, but I love you, I love you, until the end of time, come what may, come what may, I will love you, until my dying day_ … The audience goes wild. Merlin grins at Arthur through his tears, spinning into a final breathtaking quadruple axel - 4.5 revolutions - the first in ever performed in competition, making Olympic history and setting a new world record. Arthur catches him, glowing with pride, tears falling freely now too, and spins him around his head, drawing him down carefully, closely against his body. They spin to a perfect close, Arthur dropping Merlin low, and finishing in a posture reminiscent of a sweeping, old-school Hollywood style, happy-ending kiss. They’re both openly crying, euphoric, breathless, shining, staring at each other in disbelief, knowing they nailed it, marking the end of a perfect first year together. Arthur gets caught up in the moment and makes it real, leaning down to kiss Merlin passionately in front of a screaming stadium, millions of television viewers worldwide, the judges, their families, unbelievably in love with the man in his arms. Merlin kisses him back with equal fervour, and it’s some minutes before they stand, faintly embarrassed, to take their final bow, grinning bashfully at their standing ovation, and skating off the ice hand-in-hand. Gaius is crying, waiting for them, which brings another lump to Arthur’s throat.

“Magnificent,” he shakes his head. “Spellbinding. I’m so proud of you boys.” They both hug their coach in an emotional, three-way embrace, and make their way to the kiss and cry for their scores. There’s a particular cheer when the technical score is announced, 64.98, and their total score of 166.62, bringing their combined short and long program total to 247.59 - the highest pairs figure skating score on record. They’re a full 8 points ahead of the USA, their contender for first place, and laugh when they realise they’ve done it - they’ve got Gold. 

The next few hours are a blur of press, the medal presentation, more press, seeing friends and family, being forced back to the training centre for ice baths and physio, before they’re finally returned to their hotel by management, where a representative from their sponsor,  Escetir Athletics plc,  has arranged a formal celebratory dinner for them, Gaius, and their families, probably wanting to woo them into signing another four-year contract, taking them to the next Olympics. Arthur knows there will be marketing people there with endorsement offers from big brands, wanting him and Merlin for watch ads, or aftershave ads. They have about an hour to themselves before the circus starts again, quiet in the lift up to their rooms. Arthur takes Merlin’s hand in the corridor and pulls him into his bedroom, shutting the door impatiently and pressing Merlin against it, kissing him hungrily, totally and newly infatuated. 

“I want everything,” he says against Merlin’s neck, caressing his skin with lips and tongue. “You, professionally and romantically. Partner and lover.” Merlin is arched against the door, fingers in Arthur’s hair, kissing his jawline, his neck. 

“You're just on a high from winning," he murmurs, shaking his head."You haven’t forgiven me,” he says, pained, “for Gwaine.” He looks up at Arthur. “I could feel it when we danced.” He drops his head back, pushing Arthur away slightly. “And maybe I haven’t forgiven you either,” he admits, “for dropping me without a second thought, with no consideration of the fact that I am a person with needs too.” Arthur kisses Merlin to silence him, sliding hands beneath his sweater, finding warm skin. He pulls Merlin’s body close and hugs him tightly, inhaling his scent. 

“I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest and fed to hyenas in front of me, listening to you and Gwaine.” Merlin visibly winces with guilt, fingers reaching for Arthur's in apology. “I know it was partly my fault,” Arthur says, and Merlin looks up in surprise. “I was messed up about my feelings. About finding something more important to me than skating. About what that meant.” He pulls Merlin over to the bed, sitting down and drawing Merlin between his legs. “I wish you hadn’t slept with someone else, yes. I _hate_ that you did that. But I also know I hurt you first, and I love you, and I _can_ forgive you. I just need some time.” Merlin's face crumples with tears, but he smiles at Arthur wetly, in the way he used to, all crinkling eyes and devotion. “If you do it again though, I’ll drop you on purpose next time.” Merlin laughs tearfully, caressing Arthur’s face and climbing into Arthur’s lap, looping his arms around his neck. They look at each other softly. 

“You are the kindest, most wonderful man,” Merlin whispers against his lips, ardently. He smiles with bright certainty. “I want everything too. Leaving you would break my heart.” Arthur’s heart seizes with relief and he flops backwards, pulling Merlin on top of him. Merlin bends down to kiss him, and all the lust floods back into Arthur, filling his cock as Merlin melds their mouths together, soft, sweet. He can feel Merlin hardening too, so he rolls him over and pushes up his jumper and t-shirt, letting Merlin pull them the rest of the way off as he bends down to bite his nipples, suck a bruise into his hipbone. He wants to reacquaint himself with Merlin’s body for hours, but he knows they don’t have much time. He unlaces Merlin’s tracksuit bottoms and swiftly pulls them down his slender hips and legs, peeling off his socks, and dropping them all to the floor. He kicks off his own trainers and socks and undresses quickly, climbing back over Merlin impatiently and kissing him, hands stroking over his skin. 

“Do you have stuff?” Merlin murmurs into his mouth, and Arthur nods, crouching back to reach into the dresser by his bed and extract lube. He looks down at Merlin. 

“Condom?” Merlin shakes his head. Arthur pushes Merlin’s legs open and crawls down to kiss his thighs, peeling open his legs and kissing his hole gently, squeezing lube directly onto it and beginning a slow massage and gentle probe, occasionally sucking the head of his cock, crawling back up his body to kiss him and rolling Merlin to his side, back pressed along Arthur’s chest. Arthur wraps one arm under his neck, holding his head in place, whilst his arse is nestled snuggly in Arthur’s crotch, Arthur’s hand slipping between them, disappearing inside Merlin steadily, slowly, retreating, re-entering. He covers himself in lube and slides in easily, replacing his fingers, and Merlin sighs as he’s breached and filled, curling his top leg back and between Arthur’s to secure him in place better. Arthur uses the slicked up hand to travel over Merlin’s front in a light massage, over his nipples, down his stomach, stroking his cock. They kiss the whole time, tongues tangling, slow brushstrokes, lazy and unhurried. This is lovemaking, Arthur thinks, not sex, or shagging, or fucking, or every other variant he and Merlin have tried. This is total trust and surrender. Something new. Every nerve is tingling. 

“I love you,” he whispers, breaking away from Merlin’s mouth, nuzzling his jaw. Merlin twists his fingers into Arthur’s hair and draws him down for another drugging kiss.

“I'm yours,” he promises against Arthur’s lips, arching as his prostate is brushed. Arthur groans and comes inside him, and Merlin shudders and comes at the same time. They carry on kissing as their bodies cool, profoundly connected and in sync with each other. 

“You know,” Merlin says to Arthur conversationally, pulling back to look at him. “We’re both idiots, but this has still been the best year of my life.” Arthur nods. 

“Three gold medals, I know,” he responds dryly. “Ow!” he cries, laughing, as Merlin smacks him. “And one _insanely_ hot, unbelievably talented, extraordinarily lovely, and terrifyingly addictive new boyfriend,” he amends. 

“Better,” Merlin agrees good-naturedly, rolling over to rub his sticky body against Arthur’s and humming in pleasure before he rolls back to look at the clock. “Twenty minutes until we become millionaires,” he informs Arthur, nuzzling under his chin and licking his Adam’s apple. “Do you want Calvin Klein underwear, or Gillette razors?” 

“Amor Big Mix Condoms,” Arthur replies deadpan, smiling as Merlin breaks into peals of laughter, squirming against his chest. 


	6. Epilogue

_Extract from_ _Sports International_

**DANCING THEIR WAY INTO ANOTHER DISNEY DREAM**

Four years ago, Arthur Pendragon (27) and Merlin Emrys (23) set a new world record (and made international news headlines) with their Lion King and Moulin Rouge routines at the Vancouver Winter Olympics, taking Gold for the third time that season, after successful European and World Championships.

They’re on course to take Gold again at this year’s Turin Winter Olympics, after striding once more through qualifying circuits. This time they’re set to make history with a groundbreaking and highly-anticipated street dance on ice, paying homage to Mr Emrys’ former career as a contemporary ballet dancer.

The golden power couple, nation’s sweethearts, and clear fan favourites, have worked hard since their last Olympic performance to solidify their joint brand and individual icon status, with a host of high-profile endorsements; notably Hugo Boss, Rolex and Jaguar Land Rover for Mr Pendragon, and Puma and Apple Music for Mr Emrys. Marrying in the Italian alps last Christmas, after a passionate three-year romance lived out on ice, was the cherry on top of a very sweet cake for these talented young lovebirds.

Asked to comment on his relationship with his dance partner at a recent press junket, Mr Emrys replied blithely, “It’s a very annoying one. He’s an incredibly bossy control freak, with a bizarre aversion to sugar. I’ve no idea why I married him.” Asked the same question, Mr Pendragon’s only response was, “He’s an idiot.” The adoration in which they hold each other, however, is clear for all to see. The world has been fortunate to witness their enchanting and developing love story in every one of their performances, establishing the pair as true masters of fairytales on ice.

Figure skating enthusiasts now await Turin with bated breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ice-skating enthusiasts, here's the routine that inspired Arthur and Merlin's passionate final dance - Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir's Moulin Rouge at the 2018 PyeongChang Olympics: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wOEKdWrtz6U 
> 
> ALSO: Merlin's Grime dance in Chapter 1 was inspired by Olly Alexander's performance towards the end of the Years & Years 'Sanctify' music video:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37lXjnflt9M
> 
> Enjoy - and thanks for reading / surviving all the angst!


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